


Conundrum

by this_wayward_life



Series: Conundrum [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Artist Bucky Barnes, Background Relationships, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bullying, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Deaf Clint Barton, Drug Use, Friends to Lovers, Gay Bucky Barnes, Gay Sam Wilson, I Love Sharon Carter But She's A Bitch In This, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Joseph Rogers Can Suck My Dick, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Character(s), Minor Sharon Carter/Steve Rogers, Musician Steve Rogers, Mutual Pining, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Oblivious Bucky Barnes, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, POV Bucky Barnes, References To Josef Stalin Controlling Life, Russian Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Sassy Bucky Barnes, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking, Use of Hateful Slurs, Vodka, Watch As I Abuse The Shit Out Of Google Translate, drug overdose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 00:18:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 48,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19262110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/this_wayward_life/pseuds/this_wayward_life
Summary: Bucky Barnes was not popular in the slightest. He was overly sarcastic, had no interest in fashion, and everything about him screamed "the complete opposite of cool". Pair that with his sexuality and lack of a left arm, and none of the so-called "Populars" would go near him, except to slam him into lockers. And Bucky was totally okay with that. It was his last year in school, anyway - and unless his entire year level turned out to be evil clones, he wouldn't care about any of them.Then Bucky met Steve Rogers. He was handsome, friendly, sweet, funny and completely irrelevant to Bucky's life. Bucky was determined to ignore him, but Steve had a life of his own - and he was determined to have Bucky in it.





	1. A Walking, Talking Cliché

**Author's Note:**

> Based on Melissa Keil's Life In Outer Space. It's an amazing book, please go and read it.

Bucky started the day by falling on his ass. This was, unfortunately, not uncommon - in fact, it happened pretty much once a week, if he was lucky. Taking a second to breathe in and not try to launch himself at the source of his suffering - which would not end well - Bucky pushed himself up, glaring at the stupid, smirking face of Brock Rumlow.

Brock - seriously, what kind of a name was Brock? - was basically a walking, talking cliché of high school. If you were to look up 'high school douche' in the dictionary, Bucky was willing to bet there'd be a picture of Rumlow's ugly mug. Ignoring the glitter from the ridiculous poster hanging directly above his head getting into his eyes and his hair, Bucky just put his hand on his hip and raised his chin defiantly. He definitely shouldn't be provoking Rumlow. To be honest, he couldn't really help it. It was too easy, and too much fun.

A swarm of the vultures that normal people call teenagers had circled around them - girls with the same ridiculous shirts and makeup, and dudes who all seemed to be wearing the exact same outfit, topped off with the two full cans of hair gel they all seem to love. The idiots that hung out with Rumlow were sniggering behind him, and Bucky could only roll his eyes from the bullshit that was his life. 

Sam stood at Bucky's side, looking at him with semi-concern. Semi, because Sam was a smart guy, and he knew that anything more would just lead to additional torment from the tapeworms that called themselves human.

Clint appeared beside him, glaring down the corridor. He had his signature kick-ass face on, and Bucky held back a sigh. For a guy who barely came up to Bucky's chin and weighed less than a Pringles can, he was full of so much anger all the time Bucky had come to just put it down to constant horniness.

"Piss off, Rumlow," Sam muttered, frowning at Clint. As if that would stop Clint from being an idiot.

"Oh, sorry," Rumlow said mockingly. "I couldn't hear you, queer." He put his hand up to his ear, as if he was deaf as well as stupid. Rumlow didn't actually know that Sam was gay - objectively, he didn't know that Bucky was, too. Nobody knew, except for their pathetically small band of friends. Because Bucky had no way of responding without outing both Sam and himself, he chose to stay silent.

Clint, on the other hand, decided to be an idiot. Which shouldn't have been surprising. Clint barrelled past Bucky, and it was only a last-survival reflex that made Bucky reach out and grab Clint by the hood of his jumper. 

"Aw, aren't they such a good duo," Rumlow crowed, batting his eyelashes and making the crowd laugh. "The cripple and the deaf."

"I'm still whole enough to beat your dumb ass, punk!" Clint roared, and Bucky sighed internally. This was not going to plan. In retrospect, not many things in Bucky's life went to plan. "Barnes, hold my hearing aids so I can beat this bastard!"

"Put those back in, idiot," Sam muttered, slapping Clint upside the head. "I'm not explaining to Natasha why you lost them."

Natasha was their other friend. Well, their only other friend. And Clint's girlfriend. 

Clint had turned an unflattering shade of purple. Bucky suspected that he was about to burst into a rant peppered with references to various science fiction movies, but thankfully Sam distracted him by not-so-gently shoving Clint's hearing aids back into his ears. Rumlow laughed.

"Control your pet, Barnes, or else I might have to put him down."

Bucky doubted that Rumlow had enough knowledge of biochemistry to even know his way around a needle, but he stayed silent as the various idiots that floated around the hallways lumbered off to their respective classes.

"I could take him," Clint said confidently, angrily chewing on a granola bar. 

"And end up in the emergency ward," Bucky retorted. "I'm not hauling your ass into a hospital bed again."

They waited in the hallway for a few seconds, and Sam helped Bucky pick up the assorted shit that Rumlow had made him drop. Clint just angrily muttered into his granola bar. Sam casually ran a hand through Bucky's hair, and a shower of glitter came down. Bucky didn't know whether to be annoyed or grateful. 

 

\------

 

Bucky wasn't a fan of his school. He wasn't a fan of Brock Rumlow. He wasn't a fan of the new Christian mathematics teacher, and he wasn't a fan of life in general. Bucky usually didn't have it very good - he lost his arm, for Christ's sake - but now that he was in senior year, he started to realise that all of those shitty high school movies Clint made them watch were utter bullshit. It was as if the guardian angel watching his life had fallen into a vat of vodka and was playing a game with Josef Stalin to see how bad this poor little Russian amputee's life could get. Bucky didn't like that game. 

Brock Rumlow's asshole-ness had taken on a new life. He was already an asshole, but it was as if he'd fallen into a special vat of asshole supervillain juice over the summer. Or maybe his four functioning brain cells were just extra bored.

And Bucky was easy to pick on. He wasn't a small guy - he went to the gym once a week, and was almost six feet tall - but he wasn't exactly the most normal person, and idiots like Rumlow thrived off people like him. Add the 'girl hair', as Brock liked to call it, the missing arm, and the fact that his three friends were an angry deaf troll, a black guy who was very comfortable in his masculinity, and a Russian immigrant who had beaten up pretty much anyone who looked at her, Bucky was prime picking for the loser-pummelling fest that Brock Rumlow was all-time champion for. 

Because his guardian angel got drunk with Stalin and started to place bets as to how bad Bucky's life could get, the End of Year Formal committee had turned the entire school into a fortress made of pink glitter and cut-outs of Brock Rumlow and Sharon Carter's faces plastered over pictures of old Hollywood stars.

The walls of the high school, once papered with posters of STDs and Justin Bieber - not a good combination - had been replaced with the monstrosities that the End of Year Formal Committee had created, like Doctor Frankenstein and his monster. The so-called "Roaring 20's", up until the '50s, had become Bucky's most detested time period, solely based on the ridiculous posters and war propaganda that was plastered everywhere. As far as Bucky was concerned, that point of time in history was only beneficial to wealthy white men. If the Formal Committee had stabbed him in the balls with a blunt pencil, it would probably have been less painful than the selection of such a ridiculous and capitalistic theme. He and Natasha had spent a great deal of time drawing Hitler moustaches on Rumlow's face on the many posters where he was pretending to be James Dean, complete with the leather jacket and sports car. 

The drama club's pin board had been taken over by a Casablanca poster. Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman had been replaced by the faces of Alexander Pierce (who Bucky was convinced was a sex offender) and one of the random girls who Bucky had seen hanging off Pierce's arm on occasion. Bucky contemplated giving both of them a Hitler moustache as well. 

Because of Bucky's hatred towards everything living and Sam's need to help everyone around him, Sam said that, apparently, Bucky was dead inside. Bucky had chosen to take that as a compliment.

In conclusion, Bucky was not going to the End of Year Formal.

 

\------

 

Bucky liked English - which was surprising, considering he liked very little. Unfortunately, it was far too early, a Monday morning, and Bucky hadn't had time to have a coffee that morning. He sat down in his usual seat - left corner, last row, and put his feet on his desk, leaning up against the wall. Sam sat down on his left, expressionless and silent. With his dark hair, dark eyes, dark skin and dark clothes, Sam managed to blend into pretty much any crowd, even when he was the only black guy in a sea of stereotypical whites. 

On Bucky's right, Natasha Romanov was sharpening a Hello Kitty pencil with a knife. She looked over at Bucky and raised one of her eyebrows; her signature greeting. Bucky wondered how she kept them so perfect. Natasha was Bucky's only female friend. She had come from Russia in year 8 as an exchange student, then never left. Something about her entire family being on the run from the Soviet Union. When she'd first arrived, she and Bucky had spent long hours bonding over beef stroganoff and solyanka soup, and talking about how hot Josef Stalin had been when he was younger. She had curly red hair and green eyes, and everyone was terrified of her. She was one of Bucky's favourite people.

Natasha had started throwing her knife in the air and catching it, and the substitute teacher looked a little too scared to tell her to stop. Sam had leaned his head back and was absentmindedly staring at T'Challa, who Bucky was half-convinced was the son of an African king. Peter Quill, on Sam's other side, had his head on the table. He would be drooling on his Maths textbook in around two minutes. 

Bucky pulled his sketchbook from his bag, and Natasha tossed him a knife-sharpened grey lead. Since there was no possible way for Bucky to concentrate at that moment, he started an intricate sketch of Brock Rumlow being mauled to death by hyenas, which would hopefully take the rest of the class to complete. Bucky tucked an earbud into his ears and turned on the music. A random 80's rock song blasted through the speakers.

There was a knock on the door around ten minutes in, and Bucky reluctantly looked up from his sketch. The assistant principal entered, some dude in his mid-50's with a constantly runny nose. He wiped said nose on his sleeve, and then wiped his sleeve on his pants. He was followed by a boy.

In movies - the Hollywood ones, where significant events are shown in a way that it's as if the screenwriters were shaking a sign in the middle of the camera - there are certain tropes that let the dumb audience know that something big is going to happen.

If life was a movie, here's what would have happened when that boy stepped through that Monday morning:

1\. The music would've swelled - some bullshit classical thing with cello and piano. Maybe a harp.  
2\. A breeze would've blown through the room, bringing with it a flurry of leaves and maybe a few squirrels. It would have definitely been in slow motion.  
3\. The entire female population of the room - minus Natasha because she hated everyone - would have swooned, and every single male - minus Sam and Bucky because they didn't care - would have seen this blonde Adonis and thought something along the lines of, "I'm gonna bromance the shit out of this dude who looks like he can play football". 

But, thankfully, that was not what happened. Instead, the chatter in the classroom died, and everyone looked to the front. Bucky saw Sharon Carter's jaw drop, and snickered under his breath.

Bucky didn't really care about anything that happened at the school. He was, however, a very observative person, like one of those scientists that spend their day peering at fungus through a microscope. A new guy - especially one who resembled a Greek god - meant fresh meat, a possible re-shuffling of the social order, and around three lunchtime's worth of gossip that Bucky would inevitably hear about regardless of how uninterested he was. Despite this, Bucky twirled his pencil through his hair and put it up in a messy bun, and made a mental social scorecard. 

The boy was wearing jeans, boots, and a leather jacket over a white shirt that really left nothing to the imagination. His hair was blonde, shorter at the sides like a military cut. Bucky prayed that he wasn't from one of those patriotic families that sign their kids up when they were four. His eyes - a very nice shade of blue - scanned the room. He didn't look scared or overconfident like Clint did when he did a song for his book report of To Kill A Mockingbird in year seven. Sam and Bucky marked that event as ground zero for the downward social spiral of the group. 

The boy wasn't scared or overly confident. Plus one on the social scoreboard.

The assistant principal smiled. There was mucus on his top lip. "So, it seems we have a new addition to our family here at Brooklyn Secondary. I trust we'll make Steve here welcome. Tell us about yourself, Mr Rogers."

Steve Rogers. Rolled off the tongue, common but not ridiculously so. Plus one.

The boy shrugged, like meeting twenty-eight hostiles in a small stuffy room wasn't a big deal. "I just moved here with my dad. We're originally from Brooklyn, but we've been all over."

His voice was attractive, like George Clooney attractive. Plus five.

His face and body were attractive. Plus eight.

He had a tattoo. An honest-to-god tattoo, peeking out from his shirt and curling up to his neck. It reminded Bucky of one of those tribal tattoos from the Amazon. Plus twelve.

"Dad's in the army. Pretty high up, too. We were all around the Middle East for a few years there, then we went to Mexico. We've been around the States for a year or so now, and I guess Dad just wanted to come home." Steve shrugged and smiled. He had a nice smile. Plus five.

A guy in the front row gasped. "Wait, is your dad Joseph Rogers? The war hero?"

The class is sitting upright, eyes trained on Steve Rogers. Bucky's mental scoreboard was waiting in anticipation.

"Yeah, he is," Steve said easily. "You a fan?"  
"He singlehandedly took down that entire battalion in Afghanistan!" the boy in the front said excitedly. Bucky thought his name was Rhodes. "He got a Medal Of Honour! He turned down a Nobel Peace Prize!"

Bucky absentmindedly wondered how killing people could get a person a peace prize, but all he did was raise an eyebrow at Natasha. Steve just laughed softly. It was quite a nice laugh. Plus seven.

"Yeah, back in '08." He smiled. It wasn't an embarrassed smile, or one of self-importance. 

So, New Guy's final score was plus ten billion. Another minion for the army of suck that was the Populars. 

The assistant principal said a few words to the poor substitute behind the desk, and Rogers took a seat in the second row next to Okoye. Everyone was staring at him, but he was acting as if he was the only person in the room. He murmured something to Okoye, and she replied with the suspected sass that comes with everything she says. Brock Rumlow almost fell out of his seat trying to catch Rogers' eye.

Sam removed his gaze from T'Challa - where it had been for the entire shitstorm that was the arrival of Steve Rogers - and caught Bucky's eye. 

_At least Rumlow will be occupied for a while,_ he mouthed. Bucky rolled his eyes. Sam wiggled his eyebrows, and Bucky tried not to laugh. Natasha muttered something about them being idiots and returned to throwing her knife. Bucky took the pencil out of his hair, flicked some loose strands out of his eyes, and resumed his sketch.


	2. To Hell With The Status Quo, I Guess

The final bell of the day rang at three, like it did every day. Bucky gathered up his things from his biology class and made his way towards the IT department, like he did every day. Despite these two very normal things that happened every day, the day had not been normal in the slightest. Aside from the morning's ass-planting, Bucky had coasted under the radar. The only reason for this was because the only thing on everyone's mind was Steve Rogers. Bucky caught occasional glimpses of him through the hallways throughout the day, and every time he was surrounded by groupies. Sharon Carter was probably the most common.

There had been a lot of googling of his dad in the middle of class. Clint even looked him up on his phone, and Clint usually only used his phone for angry birds and bubble shooter. The net was full of Joseph Rogers, a blonde guy with a killer smile and muscles that were probably bigger than Bucky's head. There was one story about him and Steve's ma - some journalist from NYC who died from tuberculosis when Steve was twelve. There are also a couple of photos of Steve - one of a scrawny little kid sitting on his dad's shoulder, and another that was obviously a few years later, because Steve looked right at home with his dad's stud buddies - covered in dirt and sweat, muscles bulging under his shirt, and the same smile as his dad's on his face. When Bucky had seen that one he'd quickly closed the tab, deciding to completely lose interest in everything that was Steve Rogers.

Bucky assumed the vague proximity to a celebrity would keep the Populars occupied for at least two months. A potentially incident-free two months, the likes of which Bucky hadn't seen since they had a chemistry teacher in year ten who looked like Pat Benatar back in the '80s. Bucky knew that the reprieve was temporary, but there were guarantees that came with the reprieve. There would be angst and gossip, and unless Steve Rogers turned out to be a cyborg, he would be of no relevance to Bucky.

What was relevant to Bucky was the fact that Sam had dropped out of martial arts.

Sam had been obsessed with martial arts since year seven, when he realised that he could incorporate dancing and violence into a single sport. He trained every Monday, Wednesday and Saturday, and had tournaments on Sundays. He never missed a training session. 

On that Monday afternoon, Sam wandered into the IT office with a six-pack of Coke, and said, "I'm not doing martial arts anymore."

Even Tony Stark, who only knew Sam from a distance, paused.

Midway through the year before, Bucky had been in the IT department to see a short, spiky-haired dude who had obviously ingested too much caffeine sitting in the corner. Bucky had said something deprecating, and the dude had responded lightning-fast with an insult of his own. From then on, everyone seemed to accept Tony Stark as the goblin of the IT office, and he allowed them to hang out there if they brought him energy drinks and coffee every once in a while. One time Tony Stark noticed Bucky's split lip from another fight with Rumlow, and the next day Rumlow's email had been hacked and he'd been sent to the principal's office for sending his own dick pics to every girl in the school. Everyone had been terrified of Tony Stark ever since. 

On a normal Monday, Sam and Natasha would show up at 3:15 with coke, Mars bars and Red Bull for Tony. Led Zeppelin would be playing in the background. Natasha would perch on top of a filing cabinet and sharpen her butterfly knives. Clint and Tony would argue for about twelve minutes about archery. Bucky would be sketching whatever Natasha was telling him to sketch, usually something rude or violent and always said in Russian.

On that particular Monday morning, Sam spun slowly in his chair, looking at the ceiling. Natasha had stopped tapping her perfectly manicured nails on the filing cabinet. Clint was eating his second Mars bar because Bucky kept glaring him to make sure he didn't say anything stupid.

"Any reason why?" Bucky finally asked. 

Sam shrugged.

"Is it because of a guy?" Clint asked with his mouth full, and chocolate mixed with saliva sprayed over Sam's arm. Bucky levelled up his glare.

"No," Sam said. 

Bucky felt like he should say something. He didn't know what. What were you supposed to say when your best friend decided to stop doing one of the only things that brought him joy?

Maybe it did have something to do with a guy. Maybe it didn't. To be completely honest, Bucky didn't know much about Sam's life other than his home life and the fact he did martial arts. He didn't know if Sam had any friends outside school, if he went out on weekends, if he was dating anyone...

Bucky was pulled out of his train of thought by the look Sam had on his face. It wasn't directed at him, though - Sam was looking over his shoulder, his eyes wide. Clint had stopped chewing his Mars bar. Tony had looked up from his computer. Natasha had raised an eyebrow.

Then a voice came from behind Bucky. An agonisingly familiar voice that made Bucky silently curse the universe.

"Dude. Nice laptop wallpaper. Original Queen? Absolute classic." 

It turned Bucky's head. 

Steve Rogers was leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed. His eyes sparkled, and Bucky resolutely ignored the green specks in the blue of his eyes. 

"I'm looking for Tony," he said.

Bucky pointed at Tony. Sam pointed at Tony. Natasha pointed at Tony. Clint pointed at Tony. Tony seemed to realise that he, in fact, was Tony. 

"That's me," Tony finally said. 

"Hey," Steve said. "I'm Steve."

The room was silent. 

"So, the office sent me down here. I can't get onto the network. They told me you were the person to speak to?" Steve addressed Tony. Bucky realised Steve had a computer tucked under his arm. "If it's a bad time I'll come back later. Only I have some sort of welcome pack in my inbox, apparently. You know, map to the toilets and secret S&M dungeons and all that."

Tony motioned for Steve to come in, and popped up the computer Steve handed him. Clint stood up.

"You want a Mars bar?" he asked, holding one out. Steve took it with a smile. Natasha kicked a swivel chair in Steve's direction, who sat down with a murmured thanks. Bucky was beginning to realise this dude was ridiculously polite as well as ridiculously attractive. 

"I don't think I've met you guys yet," Steve said through a mouthful of chocolate. "It's been a blurry sort of a day."

"Tony, Sam, Clint and Bucky," Natasha said, pointing at each person. "I'm Natasha."

Tony gave finger guns over the computer, and Bucky grimaced. Steve just smiled brightly at him. Bucky silently wished that Tony would hurry up, so that Steve could leave and normality would once again sink in.

"So you're Bucky?" Steve asked. He sounded weirdly interested, as if he wanted to know things about Bucky. Bucky was surprised he wasn't flinching away in disgust, since he'd spent the day with Rumlow and Sharon Carter, and that couldn't have made Bucky look good. Bucky just nodded.

"Is that real?" Clint suddenly asked, gesturing to Steve's tattoo. Steve put his hand to his collarbone, where the tattoo was visible peeking out from his shirt. 

"Yep."

Clint frowned. "How'd you get it?"

Steve shrugged. "We travelled a lot. There are lots of places that don't ask for ID. And Dad's big on tatts." Bucky saw the outline of a tendon running through Steve's collarbone underneath the tattoo, and he looked away quickly.

"Did it hurt?" Natasha asked. She didn't sound very interested, and was focussing on her nails.

Steve grinned. "Like a bastard."  
Nobody really knew how to respond to that. Thankfully, Tony handed Steve his computer back a moment later, and Bucky almost sagged with relief. 

"I should get outta here," Steve said, looking guilty. "Gotta help Dad unpack - he's completely useless." 

"We'll see you around," Clint said cheerfully, stuffing another Mars bar into his mouth. Steve grinned.

"I'm counting it." His eyes roamed over everyone in the room. "Thanks, Tony. See you guys around." Then his eyes landed on Bucky, and Bucky felt as if all the air had been sucked out of him. "Bucky."

He grinned and walked out of the room, and all eyes landed on Bucky. There was only one solution to this problem.

Bucky was going to drop out of school.

He must have said this out loud, because Sam leaned over to punch his shoulder.

 

\-----

 

Monday's routine had been ruined about a thousand times over, and Bucky wasn't a fan of change. So he wasn't in the best mood when he walked home, Sam silent at his shoulder. Not even Led Zeppelin could help Bucky's mood, but he shared an earbud with Sam anyway. And besides, the IT office was Bucky's Neutral Zone, one of the few places he could be free of the many nemeses that existed only to cause him pain. It was definitely the angel and Stalin's fault. Bucky was kind of enjoying blaming everything on a communist leader of the Soviet Union who'd died before he'd been born.

He was explaining all of this to Sam as they walked, but Bucky wasn't sure that Sam was listening. He was playing with his hoodie, which was uncommon for Sam. Then Bucky remembered the Situation.

"So what happened with martial arts?" Bucky asked tentatively. 

"Yeah," Sam said. He squinted at the road. "Think I've had enough."

They walked another block in silence. Unless he'd been replaced by some shape-shifting alien, Sam would not just quit martial arts. His bedroom reeked of sweat and gym socks and Deep Heat. His desk was covered in trophies. He basically lived at his dojo, and Bucky knew - better than most people - that something was very wrong.

"Just had enough?" Bucky repeated, trying to sound casual.

Sam shrugged. "Yeah. Just had enough."

He was lying. Anyone who knew Sam knew that, but Bucky didn't press the issue. When they parted ways at Sam's street, Bucky added the Sam Situation to his ever-growing list of headaches. 

When he got home, Becca opened the door before Bucky even touched the handle. Her eyes were warning.

"Don't mention anything," she warned. Bucky internally groaned - he knew what that meant. Ma had been crying again.

Sure enough, when he stepped through the door Bucky spotted Winnifred Barnes sitting at the piano with that expensive necklace she only wore when she was upset. There was a pile of DVDs on the couch, and without even looking at them Bucky could tell the main character would die of some preventable disease while looking pretty and vulnerable. He cast a look at Becca, who had her lips pursed.

"There's my boy!" Winnifred crowed, pulling Bucky into her arms. She smelled of perfume and cigarettes. "How was school?"

"It was good, ma," Bucky mumbled into her shoulder. 

"Buck and I were gonna cook dinner," Becca piped up. "Then we could have a movie marathon - Star Wars or something like that."

Bucky cast her a grateful look - Becca had always been better at that kind of stuff than he'd been. Ma smiled and wiped her eyes discreetly.

"That's very sweet of you, Rebecca. James, you go help your sister."

"Yes, ma," Bucky said, and kissed her cheek. "I'll bring you some tea."

Winnifred gave him a watery smile and sat down on the couch, and Bucky walked into the kitchen.

"What happened?" he asked lowly as he turned on the kettle. Becca grimaced.

"Dad called."

Bucky stilled, his hand on the cabinet door. "What'd he say?"

"Nothing much," Becca said, pulling the tea out of the pantry and tossing him a bag. "He was drunk again."

Bucky sighed and looped the bag's string around the handle of the cup he'd gotten out. "Is he never not drunk these days?"

"Ma's not doing well, Buck," Becca said softly. There were tears in her eyes. Bucky sighed again, and pulled her into a hug.

"We'll figure it out, Beck. We always do," he said quietly. Becca melted into him, and Bucky rested his head on hers. Sometimes he forgot that Becca was still a kid. 

"I'll make pasta," Becca finally mumbled. "Can you get the passata out for me?"

 

\------

 

As soon as Bucky was alone in his room, he pulled up the website for Sam's martial arts dojo. A newsletter had just been posted; there was a training weekend coming up, someone was selling raffle tickets, and there was a new instructor that came from Australia. There was absolutely nothing that helped Bucky find out what was happening with the Sam Situation. Also, he sucked at detective work. 

Bucky closed his computer with a sigh, and started sifting through his drawer. There were a few magazines, the gay porn mags Clint had gotten him as a joke, the butt plug Clint had gotten him as a joke, and a sketchbook. Bucky pulled the sketchbook out, and brushed the dust off the top sheepishly. 

That sketchbook was meant to be part of the folio Bucky had to put together if he was going to get into a good art program at college. There was basically nothing in there but a sketch of the asshole cat the neighbours owned that occasionally sat on his windowsill and screeched. Bucky fought down a growing sense of doom as he opened the book and looked at a blank page. With the way he was going, he wouldn't be able to get into a good art program, and his entire life plan would be spun out of proportion. The plan was to get into college, then move into a dodgy apartment with Sam and pretend high school never happened. But that was still over a year away, and Bucky still needed to get into college.

Bucky put the sketchbook away and went back downstairs to help Becca boil the pasta.


	3. Nucelar Waste Tastes Like Shit

Bucky felt as if he was recovering from the worst hangover ever, and he hadn't even gotten drunk. He'd checked his dumb timetable about five times over and hadn't registered anything. He was twitching and felt fuzzy from lack of sleep, because for some reason he hadn't been able to sleep the night before. There was also a headache that was slowly making its way from the back of Bucky's head to his eyeballs. 

The locker next to Bucky's head slammed close and he jumped, instantly regretting the three extra-strong coffees he'd had that morning. Sam just raised an eyebrow at him.

"You look like shit."

Bucky didn't have the energy to reply. Sam looked behind him and grimaced. "We might wanna hurry."

Bucky turned around and groaned softly. Brock Rumlow was walking down the hall towards them, surrounded by assorted minions that didn't have two brain cells to rub together. Behind him, Alexander Pierce had his arm firmly around a young-looking girl, as if she was going to run off if he didn't hold onto her. Bucky was about to turn away and get his ass to class before it was planted on the floor two days in a row, but before he could something caught his eye. Right in the centre of the group was Steve Rogers. He was wearing a green Henley and a red bomber jacket. It would make anyone else look like a ridiculous Christmas tree. Not Steve.

Sharon Carter had attached herself to his side, and was twirling her hair and giggling. Steve seemed to not realise that she was basically offering him her body, and was smiling politely. He saw Bucky, and gently pried Sharon Carter off.

"Bucky," Steve said as greeting, giving him a mock-salute. It would have made anyone else look like a dork. Not Steve. The conversation around them dimmed. It was like one of those ridiculous movies with the vacant-eyed white dude with his arm around some swooning brunette with big tits that Bucky's ma watched religiously, where they make eye contact for the first time and there was that whole cliché. Bucky saw Rumlow's eyes dart between the two of them, his functioning brain cells working extra hard to figure out what was happening, but he seemed to not know how to react. For Bucky, that was a good thing.

So Bucky just nodded back at Steve, unable to keep the slight smirk off his lips at the gobsmacked faces of everyone he hated. "Rogers."

Steve winked at him and continued down the hall. Sharon Carter sent a glare in Bucky's direction before flouncing after Steve. Rumlow was staring at Bucky as if picturing his entrails smeared on the wall. Bucky just raised an eyebrow at him and turned away. 

"What was that about?" Sam asked, sounding amused. Bucky had almost completely forgotten he was there.

"Nothing," Bucky said. "So, maths?"

Sam just grinned at him. 

 

\------

 

Bucky wasn't an idiot. He knew that all the literature and movies that he loved were not reflective of the real world. The films and books that tried were about as depressing as Bucky's own life, which kind of defeated the purpose. Despite this, Bucky knew from his copious knowledge of literature and pop culture, there were three basic approaches to dealing with the world.

1\. Keep your head down and your face out of anyone's line of fire.   
2\. Charge head first into the enemy's lines and pray that they're too taken aback by your stupidity to do anything but wait until you've skewered them.  
3\. Cry and hide in the bathroom.

For a long time, Bucky was number two. Then he lost his arm, and immediately realised that the only rational option was the first. Sam was the same. Natasha was number two, but only because she could get away with it. Clint would also choose number two, but his metaphorical weaponry consisted of a plastic Viking hat and a bow and arrow made from rubber. 

Steve Rogers clearly chose option two. In his first week, he joined the End of Year Formal Committee and the chess club. Details about his life filtered through the school, and Bucky tried very hard not to be interested, and mostly succeeded. The things he did find out went something like this:  
1\. His mother was a high-up journalist who interviewed celebrities  
2\. She was interviewing Steve's dad and they fell in love and got married  
3\. She gave birth to Steve  
4\. She immediately divorced Steve's dad and took Steve with her  
5\. She was in Africa doing a piece about preventable diseases that affected the population, then caught tuberculosis and died rather horrendously  
6\. Steve went to live with his dad, who was a certified jughead who Bucky immediately detested   
7\. They moved back to New York

Steve also apparently had a girlfriend named Peggy who lived in London. There was much speculation about Peggy The Girlfriend. 

Every time Steve saw Bucky in the hallway, he was friendly. That was slightly disconcerting to Bucky, who was more used to the slam-Bucky-into-the-lockers-whenever-you-see-him game that Rumlow and his cronies were so fond of. At some point,` Steve started calling him Buck, which should have pissed Bucky off but didn't. Still not entirely sure whether Steve was messing with him or not, Bucky's default response was to nod, maybe say, "Rogers," in greeting, then flee in the opposite direction. Steve was in his English, History and Philosophy classes, but was always up to his unfairly attractive shoulders in the toxic waste that was the Populars. 

On Tuesday, Clint and Sam came over for movies and pizza. Clint forced them to watch the Hunger Games trilogy again, and as usual, cried the entire way through from a mixture of Katniss's aim, Rue dying, and Peeta's unfortunately spelled name. Sam was on his phone, and Bucky had looked over his shoulder at one point and grinned, noticing he was texting Okoye.

"I didn't know you had Okoye's number," Bucky said casually. Sam shrugged, and Clint's eyes lit up.

"Do you like her?" Then he paused. "Wait no you can't, she's a chick." More deliberation. "Do you like someone she's close to?" 

Bucky sighed, and silently urged Clint on. He could basically see the gears in Clint's thick skull turning. Sam just glared at them. Suddenly Clint gasped.

"Is it T'Challa?!"

Sam's lips tightened, and he turned back to his phone.

That was all the proof Bucky needed. 

On Wednesday, Bucky came home to Ma and her black eye, and Becca had to physically restrain him from storming over to his father's shitty one-bedroom apartment and beating his brains out. Which would not have worked, because a) his father was in the army and was therefore shredded, and b) his father had both his arms, which was an unfair advantage. Before bed, Bucky sketched aimlessly, then ripped the page out when he saw the outline of Steve's face.

On Thursday, Tony cornered Bucky after school, begging him to help with some IT thing. Bucky didn't know anything about computers, but he still sat there as Tony tinkered with a busted-up Dell laptop, letting him talk about his daddy issues and a girl in his Spanish class called Pepper Potts. When Bucky got home, Becca was out and his ma was in her room. Not even the promise of toasted cheese sandwiches would coax her out. Bucky made them anyway, setting a tray with a sandwich and a glass of red wine on it in front of his mother's bedroom door. He left some on the table for Becca and whichever friend was coming home with her that night, and took his own plate up to his room. Before bed, Bucky took the scrunched-up sketch of Steve's face out of the trash.

By Friday, Bucky was tired. He was tired of school, of home, of his stupid sketchbook, of the Sam Situation, of Clint's boar headedness, of Natasha's apathy, of Steve's stupid face, of Rumlow. He was even tired of watching Sam stare at T'Challa every English class. And the IT office had started to smell like Clint (which wasn't a good thing). Maybe that was why Bucky suggested they eat in the cafeteria.

When he'd said it, everyone stared at him. Natasha had raised an eyebrow. 

The last time they'd eaten in the cafeteria was the year before. It had started with Clint daring himself to do something stupid, and had ended with Brock Rumlow dumping four strawberry milkshakes down his back and ruining his hearing aids. Then Natasha had put Rumlow in the hospital with a dislodged pelvis. They hadn't been back since.

"You sure that's a good idea?" Natasha drawled. 

"You sure we wouldn't be tempting fate?" Sam added.

"It's just lunch," Bucky said, sighing. "What's the worst that could happen?"

Natasha grimaced. "That's the definition of tempting fate."

Clint stood up, throwing the remainder of his sandwich in the bin. "Come on, Nat. We'll be fine!"

"Your optimism astounds me," Sam muttered, but stood up as well. "Fine, I'll come."

Tony cracked an eye open from where he was clearly taking a nap. "You guys need company?"

Bucky always thought it was funny how people were scared of a 5'8 caffeine addict, but managed to keep a straight face. "We'll be fine."

Tony shrugged and chucked a Malteser into his mouth. "Your funeral."

The cafeteria was ridiculously bright, and Bucky felt like a vampire waking from hibernation or whatever it was they did. He didn't have much knowledge on vampires. Clint had engaged the ancient-looking lunch lady on that day's special, which looked like nuclear waste dyed poop green. Natasha grabbed an apple and didn't pay. Sam got a soggy protein wrap. Bucky wanted to die.

"These faeces are my spirit animal," Bucky grumbled when they sat down, poking at the nuclear waste on his plate. 

"I think it's a casserole," Clint said helpfully. Natasha used a knife she'd summoned from her pocket dimension to cut up the apple. Sam poked at his protein wrap. Bucky saw Rumlow looking their way, and prayed that there wouldn't be another strawberry milkshake incident.

"I wouldn't eat that if I were you," a voice said from behind Bucky, and it all became clear as to why Rumlow was watching them. "I think whoever made it doesn't have tastebuds."

"Hey Steve," Clint said around a mouthful of the casserole. Bucky silently prayed that Clint would choke. Bucky turned around in his seat and gave Steve a forced smile.

"Surprised you'd be caught dead talking to us," Bucky said casually. Sam shot him a glare, as if to say _don't you dare scare him off._ Bucky ignored him.

Steve didn't seem to mind, because he sat down next to Bucky with surprising grace. He had a cap pulled low over his head. Bucky felt slightly disappointed that he couldn't see all of Steve's face. Then he immediately retracted said feeling.

"Well, I don't really care about that kind of stuff," Steve said. His eyes were very blue up close. Bucky kicked himself. Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky saw Natasha watching them cryptically. 

"So was there any reason you came over here, or did you just want a change of crowd?" Sam asked casually. Steve seemed to come back to himself, and looked away from Bucky.

"Actually, yeah. I signed up for History, but I'm a bit behind." Steve thought for a second. "Actually, I'm very far behind. Since we're all in the same class, I wondered if I could study with you every now and then...?"

"You want to study with us?" Natasha asked suspiciously. Sam shot her a look. Clint looked over at Bucky with a gleam in his eyes. Bucky ignored him.

"Why are you taking history if you're no good at it?" Bucky asked. He didn't mean for it to come out rude, but Sam gave him the same look he gave Natasha. 

Steve shrugged. "I like history, but I'm not exactly up to date. It wasn't offered as a subject at my old schools."

"Sure, we can have a study group," Clint said, still with that gleam in his eyes. "How about Fridays after class? Sam and Bucky both live nearby."

"Not my place," Sam said quickly. "My mum has book club on Fridays."

"Then at Bucky's," Clint said, and Bucky made a noise that could be taken as consent.

Bucky sighed internally. He knew the real reason Sam didn't want anyone at his house - his parents were crazy religious. But that meant that Bucky would have Steve Rogers in his house on Fridays.

"Great," Steve said. He was smiling. "I can't do this Friday night, but I'll be free next week. I'll see you around."

Steve gave Bucky another mock-salute, that Bucky half-heartedly returned, before standing up and walking back over to the Populars table. Bucky did not watch him leave.

Last class of the day was History, which Bucky usually enjoyed. Natasha, Clint and Sam were all in his class, Rumlow wasn't there, and it was on a Friday afternoon. But that day, Steve Rogers sat next to him. Bucky was in his normal position - feet on the desk, leaning against the wall and staring resolutely at the ceiling - and resolutely tried to ignore Steve being _right there._ Bucky put his headphone over his ears and took out his sketchbook, drowning out the conversation Steve had started with Natasha, who wasn't threatening to skin him.

They should have just had lunch in the IT office.


	4. Tight Shirts, aka the Death Of The Gays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure: I do not speak Russian, and I do not know anyone who does speak Russian. I have abused Google Translate so bad I think it's going to file a law suit. There are definitely spelling errors. Feel free to make fun of my Google Translate skills.

The 'thing' Steve had on Friday night had turned out to make it into the paper. Apparently, his dad had organised a huge get-together in the town hall with all his old army buddies, and Clint had called Bucky far too early on Sunday morning, telling him that Steve was in the paper. Sure enough, when Bucky looked it up on his phone, he found a photo of Steve with his arm around a pretty brunette that Bucky assumed to be Peggy the Girlfriend. He was smiling at her. Her lips were cherry red. Bucky turned off his phone. 

Sam was acting strange. Which shouldn't have been surprising, considering the Sam Situation. Ever since they were kids, Bucky had been fluent in Sam - meaning he understood exactly what Sam meant even if he wasn't talking. Except for the martial arts thing (which was a surprise), Bucky could read Sam like an open book. But he couldn't figure out what was going on. It was kind of driving Bucky crazy. He didn't like not knowing things, and knew that it wasn't something he could magically fix with best friend magic or whatever.

On Sunday night, Bucky was lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. Not exactly uncommon. He was tired, his head hurt, and the picture from the newspaper would not leave his head. So it was kind of a surprise when Bucky got a text from an unknown number.

_Hey, is this Bucky?_

Bucky frowned at his phone. 

_Who's this?_

The text back was immediate.

_It's Steve. Clint gave me your number._

Bucky made a mental reminder to slap Clint upside the head the next time he saw him.

_Hey. How was your thing?_

_Kinda boring,_ Steve replied. _Lots of drunk army dudes. Heaps of fun. How was your weekend?_

_Boring,_ Bucky typed back. _Saw a movie with my sister. Made waffles. Same old._

Bucky wondered why he was telling Steve about his eating habits and his sister, but Steve didn't seem to mind.

_Sounds peaceful._

_It is,_ Bucky found himself agreeing.

A few seconds passed before Bucky decided to instigate the conversation. A very rare occurrence.

_How're you liking Brooklyn Secondary? You seem to be settling in quickly._

_It's nice,_ Steve replied. _And settling in quickly is kinda a necessity when you move around a lot._

Bucky thought about that for a second. He wondered what it would be like to start somewhere new. Away from Brock Rumlow and Sharon Carter, away from the rest of the Populars and everything that brought him misery.

_Must be nice_ , Bucky typed. _Fresh starts._

Steve didn't respond for a minute. _There's not really such a thing,_ he finally said.

_Meaning?_

_You drag yourself along wherever you go. Unless you got a different personality and severe memory loss, you never really get a fresh start, because the old you is always there._

_And you always managed to fit in?_ Bucky asked, and he could almost hear Steve's laugh.

_Definitely not. But it isn't all about fitting in. Sometimes you gotta find the right crowd and do what makes you happy._

Bucky caught his reflection in his phone screen. His reflection was grinning like an idiot. _Did you manage to get a philosophy degree somewhere along the way there, Rogers?_

_That could be useful, but no. I am, however, an expert when it comes to moving schools. I also know that basically every school, anywhere in the world, is pretty much exactly the same. Maybe there are more barbecues in Australia at their school dances or something, but I have no idea._

Bucky felt himself laugh. _Yeah, I'm not really into dancing. Or barbecues. Or glitter._

_Yeah, the End of Year Formal Committee went kinda overboard, didn't they? But I'm surprised you're not a little more excited - I've heard you talking with Sam about movies._

How did he notice that? It never really occurred to Bucky that Steve Rogers would want to willingly learn things about him. 

_Yeah, well... I'm not exactly a fan when it comes to that particular part of history._

_You wanna explain that for me, Mr Cryptic?_

Bucky laughed. _I mean, it was a pretty shitty time in history. It's romanticized and stuff, but really, the only people who benefitted were rich white men. The war vets from WWI were suffering, the poor were dying, Germany was a mess, Russia was even more of a mess, and propaganda was plastered over literally every surface to make eager-eyed teenagers and young adults want to serve their country, when in reality all it did was get them killed or traumatized._

Steve didn't respond for a few minutes. Bucky wondered if he'd scared him off.

_I get it,_ Steve finally texted. _You're even smarter than you look, Barnes._

_And how smart do I look, exactly?_

_Like Einstein, but hotter._

Bucky didn't know how to respond to that.

_Crap, I gotta go. I'll talk to you later?_

Bucky's fingers felt numb as he typed his response. _Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow._

Steve typed a smiley face, and Bucky put his phone down. He stared at the ceiling for another twenty minutes, then pulled up Netflix on his computer. He watched over an hour's worth of shitty horror movie. Steve didn't text again that night.

 

\-----

 

Monday morning. Another round in the boxing ring that was Bucky's life. When he got to his locker, it was to see Natasha standing there, not Sam like usual. She was chewing on some gum, occasionally blowing a bubble and letting it pop. A couple of girls hanging up Formal posters were looking at her nervously.

"Something's up with Sam," Natasha said as greeting. Bucky rubbed his forehead and opened his locker. 

"Did he say something to you?" Bucky asked curiously, but Natasha shook her head. 

"No. But the martial arts thing is weird. And he's been quiet lately - like, more quiet than he usually is."

Bucky bit his lip, deliberating his answer. "I think something's definitely going on with him," he finally said. "I have no idea what, though. He's not telling me anything."

"Do you think it's a guy thing?"

Bucky thought for a second. Sam wasn't exactly in the closet, but he wasn't broadcasting himself, either. Meaning that the only people who knew were their small group of friends, and maybe Okoye, who might have somehow caught wind of Sam's kind-of-not-really secret.

"I don't know, Nat. We'll keep an eye on him, okay? If it seems like there's something serious going on, I'll - I dunno. I'll think of something."

Natasha nodded thoughtfully. She blew another bubble with her gum. 

"Hey, I gotta go do something," Bucky found himself saying. "I'll meet you in English?"

Natasha looked up at him, as if she'd come out of a stupor. "Oh, yeah. Sure." She grinned and ruffled his hair, making him scowl. "Ready to watch Sam make eyes at T'Challa for 45 minutes?"

"Not looking forward to it," Bucky muttered, and kissed her cheek. "I'll see you there."

Bucky walked down the hallway and turned a corner, and saw him straight away. Steve was leaning against the wall, engaged in conversation with Sharon Carter and some red-haired girl Bucky didn't know the name of. He thought her name was Winnie or Wendy or something.

"Rogers," Bucky said as greeting, and Steve lit up when he saw him. It was decidedly not cute in the slightest.

"Hey Buck," Steve said cheerfully. Bucky wondered how someone could be so happy so early in the morning.

"I just wanted to ask if everything was okay last night," Bucky said, resolutely ignoring the two girls. "You disappeared pretty suddenly."

Sharon Carter looked as if she was about to throw punches. Winnie or whatever her name was had stars in her eyes.

Steve just grimaced. "Yeah. I forgot that I needed to do something for my dad. He gets pissy if I mess with his schedule."

Bucky tried not to think about what "pissy" meant, and managed a small laugh. "Yeah, I get that. Just glad I didn't scare you off or anything."

Steve just grinned. "You? Never, Buck." He checked his schedule. "You got English now, right? I'll come."

Sharon glared daggers at Bucky, before turning to Steve with a sugar-sweet smile. "I'll see you at recess, right Stevie?"

"Yeah, sure," Steve said, flashing his smile at Sharon. "I'll see you then." He waved to Winnie/Wendy, who grinned at him, then started walking down the hall.

"Star-struck, queer?" Sharon mocked. Bucky rolled his eyes at her and started walking after Steve.

"Too botoxed-up, bitch?"

Sharon looked outraged, but Winnie/Wendy snorted. 

"Wanda, shut the fuck up," Sharon snapped, and turned on her heel, stalking down the corridor.

"Stevie?" Bucky questioned as he caught up to Steve. Steve snorted.

"Bad, isn't it? But apparently, I can't choose my nicknames."

"Makes you sound like a schoolboy from the '20s."

"With asthma."

"And no muscle mass."

"And a bowl cut," Steve added, throwing a grin in Bucky's direction. Bucky realised that Steve was a few inches taller than him. 

People smiled at Steve when he passed, and nodded, and waved. He didn't seem to be embarrassed about being seen in Bucky's presence. Bucky wondered if Steve really was as good at reading people as he claimed to be. Brock Rumlow was standing at the door of the English classroom, and Bucky silently cursed. A full week of not getting his ass kicked was obviously not going to last. Rumlow looked between Bucky and Steve, and his eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth, obviously about to say something to humiliate Bucky.

"Hey, Brock," Steve said. "How was your weekend?"

Rumlow looked bewildered, as if he hadn't expected Steve to say anything. "Uh... It was good. You missed the football game, we kicked ass. You?"

"Pretty much normal. Did some stuff with Dad. Skyped with my girlfriend." Steve shrugged. "The next football game is away, right? Near the beach?"

"Yeah. We should organise something, invite the guys and the cheer team. I'll text you about it," Brock said. He looked like he'd been struck with a cattle prod, the way his eyes were flicking from Steve to Bucky to the barely-there space between their shoulders. 

"Sounds good," Steve said with a grin. 

Bucky looked over Rumlow's shoulder into the classroom. Natasha was balancing on the back legs of her chair, raising an eyebrow in his direction. Sam was sitting with his arms crossed, and was resolutely ignoring the way T'Challa was trying to catch his eye. Okoye looked like she wanted to kill them both. Bucky raised his eyebrows at Natasha, looking towards Sam and T'Challa, then back at her. She shrugged, looking miffed. Natasha hated not knowing things. 

"Come sit with us, man," Brock was saying, effectively breaking Bucky from his nonverbal conversation with Natasha. "I wanna hear about that thing you were at on the weekend."

Steve grimaced. "Sorry man, I promised Quill I'd sit with him. We're doing the project together."

Bucky raised an eyebrow, because he knew for a fact that Peter Quill was doing the project with Gamora, but Brock didn't seem to know that.

"I'll see you at recess," Steve said, and accepted Brock's fist bump. Rumlow glared at Bucky and tried to shove past him, but Bucky moved at the last second and sent Rumlow stumbling into the classroom.

"Thought Quill was partnered with Gamora," Bucky said quietly. Steve shrugged.

"I wanted an excuse to sit with you," he said casually, and slung an arm around Bucky's shoulders. "Come on. You'll have to explain to me what we did last lesson - I wasn't listening." 

Bucky huffed out a laugh. "Not very responsible of you, Rogers." Steve just grinned.

 

\------

 

Natasha cornered Bucky again later in the day.

"You saw what was happening with Sam, didn't you?" she demanded. 

"I don't know why you're talking to me about this, _chuvak_ ," Bucky grumbled. "It's not like I'm good with this kind of stuff."

"Yeah, but you're his best friend," Natasha said, crossing her arms.

"That doesn't mean he tells me things," Bucky shot back. Natasha sighed, pinching her brow.

"Fine. Just keep me in the loop, okay? I'm worried about him."

Bucky sighed, and looped his arm around Natasha. "I know, _khon_. We'll figure it out."

 

\---

 

On Thursday, Bucky was waiting for Sam outside his chemistry class with Natasha and Clint, who were in the middle of an argument about who would win in a fight - Hawkeye or Black Widow from those comics they both seemed to love so much.

"It's no contest!" Clint was protesting. "Hawkeye is the best archer in pretty much the whole world!"

"You're fooling yourself, _vozlyublennaya_ ," Natasha scoffed. "If it came to hand-to-hand, Widow would be all over his ass."

“Okay, you know it’s not fair when you talk Russian to me, because I have no idea what it means and it turns me on.”

Bucky drowned them out - they had the same argument basically every week. Instead, he watched as Okoye dropped a slip of paper onto Sam's desk on her way out, whispering something in his ear. Bucky raised his eyebrow at her when she came out of the classroom, but Okoye just shook her head slightly. Sam appeared a few moments later. 

"What took you so long?" Clint asked, sneakily kicking Natasha in the shin. It was a wonder she didn't knock him out. 

"Someone set themselves on fire," Sam replied. "Only half the class did their homework. The usual."

"We still on for Saturday's movie night?" Bucky asked as they started walking down the corridor. Sam shrugged.

"Dunno. Maybe."

Bucky and Natasha shared a glance. Sam usually loved movie nights - they only happened once a month, and all four of them sat on Natasha's couch and watched a certain genre of movies - most of them being absolutely terrible. And Sam didn't look so great - his eyes were vacant, and he was chewing on his bottom lip furiously. Bucky's mind went back to Okoye, and wondered if she knew what was going on.

"Я думаю, что Окой знает что-то," Bucky whispered in Natasha's ear. _I think Okoye knows something._ Natasha nodded, looking troubled. 

"Мы поговорим позже," she mumbled back. _We'll talk later._

Bucky was about to say something back, but Clint waved at something behind his shoulder, and Bucky turned around. Steve was jogging towards them, and - Jesus Christ, his shirt was really tight when there was no jacket over the top of it.

"Hey guys," Steve said breathlessly. "You bought your tickets yet?"

"For what?" Sam asked curiously. Bucky tried to remember how to breathe.

"The Formal. I don't know why we're selling them so early - I guess we need the money for more glitter." Steve winked at Bucky, and Bucky completely forgot everything he knew about anything, ever. "So they're only 20 dollars each, which is still ridiculously expensive for tickets, but whatever. So, eight?"

"Eight?" Clint echoed, furrowing his eyebrows.

"For the four of you and your dates? I assume you're gonna do the courteous thing and pay for your date?" Steve said. His eyes were twinkling with mirth. 

"I'm going with Clint," Natasha said casually, ignoring the way Clint's face went bright red. "So that'd just be six." She turned to look up at Clint, and rolled her eyes. "I'll pay for yours, _debil_."

Bucky didn't even realise he was holding 40 bucks in his hand until Steve took it from him with a smile. Their fingers brushed. Sam was muttering something under his breath while fishing through his wallet. Natasha and Clint were talking quietly - Bucky didn't know what the subject was, but there was a lot of elbowing and shoulder punches. Steve tore six glittery slips off the stack in his hand and put them in Natasha's outstretched hand. 

"Great. It'll be fun - start working on those dates. And we're still on for study group tomorrow, right? I brought chips." Steve smiled again, and Bucky nodded numbly.

"I'll text you where we'll be meeting," he said, and Steve saluted him before jogging off back the way he came.

"You have his number?" Natasha said curiously, a smile playing at her lips. Bucky blushed. 

"Clint gave him my number without my permission," he defended, and Clint snickered.

"So who're you two planning to bring to the dance?" he asked, grinning like an idiot. Sam smacked him upside the head and started walking towards the front doors, muttering mutinously under his breath. 

Bucky was not going to the Formal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> chuvak - dude  
> khon - hon  
> vozlyublennaya - sweetheart/beloved  
> debil - moron
> 
> Full disclosure: I got these from google translate, originally had them written in Cyrillic, but I thought it'd be easier, when there's a single Russian word in a sentence that's majorly English, that I'll just write the pronunciation. Please tell me if I'm fucking this up, because I probably am.


	5. A Stereotypical Study Group That Doesn't Study

Bucky had known Clint since they were little - not that he remembered or anything. Clint had just always been a constant in Bucky's life, and he was pretty okay with that. When Clint was around, Bucky could pretend that he was the responsible one.

Bucky was sitting on a fence outside the school on Friday afternoon, kicking his heels and tugging at his hair. Usually he'd be relieved - school had ended for the week, and he could just relax for two whole days. But all Bucky Barnes could think was, _Steve Rogers is going to be in my house._

"Yo," Clint said, jumping on top of the ledge Bucky was sitting on. He was the first to show up - which was surprising. Clint was barely ever the first person to show up to anything. He was the type of guy who'd show up fifteen minutes late with a hangover and the drink that had made him late.

"Hey," Bucky said listlessly. 

"I was thinking," Clint started, and Bucky immediately tensed. Nothing ever good came from Clint thinking. "We should go visit Sam's martial arts school."

"Why?" Bucky asked warily.

"Because Sam wants to skip movie night! Because he quit martial arts! Because Okoye from our English class keeps having secret conversations with him, and they don't even know each other!"

"Obviously they do," Bucky mumbled.

"Dude, something is seriously wrong. What if Sam's gone all manic-depressive over a dude? What if-"

"Clint, enough," Bucky said wearily. "First Nat, and now you. Maybe Sam's just sick of it. And besides, it isn't our place to meddle in his life."

Even as he was saying it, Bucky didn't believe himself. Sam wouldn't just quit without a legitimate reason. Bucky knew that his best friend was hiding something - something pretty big, from the way he was acting. And he wouldn't tell Bucky about it. Just thinking about it made Bucky's stomach churn. Before Clint could open his mouth again, Natasha and Sam were pushing their way through the crowd towards them.

"Hey," Sam said, frowning. It was as if he knew what they were talking about. 

"Where's Steve?" Clint asked curiously.

"I saw him talking to Wanda Maximoff," Natasha said. "It looked pretty intense."

Bucky knew Wanda. She was the nice redhead that hung around Sharon Carter. Bucky vaguely recalled a brother.

"Seems he's done now," Clint said, nodding his head towards the school gates. Steve was looking down at his phone, his forehead creased into a frown. Bucky didn't think he'd ever seen Steve frown - not really, anyway. But when he looked up, Steve wiped his face into a carefully neutral expression.

"Hey guys," he said, shoving his phone into his back pocket. His smile looked a bit forced. "Sorry I'm late, I had to talk to Wanda about our project for Economics."

"That's fine," Sam said vaguely. He was looking off into the distance.

"Alright, let's go," Natasha said, pulling Clint down from the ledge and not letting go of his hand. Clint didn't seem to mind. "I'm ready for some of your ma's Borscht, Bucky."

"I'm sure that if you ask, Ma will make you basically anything you wanted," Bucky snorted. "She's obsessed with you." He turned to Steve. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be, I guess," Steve said, his eyes crinkling. "I feel like I'll fall asleep forever if I have to hear about Brooklyn in the depression again."

"At least you'll be studying up for the Formal," Bucky said, nudging him. Steve laughed.

"Yeah, I guess I will."

Natasha fell into step beside Bucky as Clint starts talking about Depression-era fashion, and Steve seems to actually be interested in what he was saying. They all walked in relative silence, save for Clint's ramblings. When they arrive at Bucky's apartment, Sam walked in without waiting, as he usually does. 

"Hey, Winnifred," Sam said on the way past. Bucky's ma looked up from the couch, and smiled. Bucky winced at the red rims of her eyes. 

"Hello, Sam," she said, before turning her attention to Bucky and holding out her arms. "James, how was your day?"

"It was good, ma," Bucky said, letting his mother envelop him in a hug. 

"Hey, Mrs Barnes," Clint said on his way through to the kitchen. "Is Beck here?"

"She's upstairs - Natasha, _moye ditya_ , how are you?"

Natasha accepted the hug, and they started a conversation in Russian about Natasha's father. Bucky looked over to the door to see Steve looking amused, and Bucky rolled his eyes.

"You gonna lurk over there, or are you gonna come inside and help us with the food?" Clint called over, re-emerging from upstairs with Becca in tow. She shot finger guns at Bucky, who rolled his eyes. Her eyes widened when she saw Steve, and her face slowly split into a sly grin.

" _Ni slova_ , Rebecca," Bucky warned. _Not a word_. Becca snickered. 

It was then that Winnifred looked up from her conversation with Natasha, and her eyes fell on Steve. She looked over at Bucky, then back at Steve, a smile spreading across her face. 

"Hi Mrs Barnes," Steve said. He sounded almost shy. "I'm Steve."

"Please, call me Winnifred, dear," she said. Her smile was really big. "James hasn't mentioned he made a new friend."

"Ma, please," Bucky groaned. Steve cast him an amused look, and Bucky decided he'd had enough of the conversation. "I'm going to help Becca and Clint with the food."

" _On ochen' krasivyy, Dzheyms. ya odobryayu_ ," Winnifred called after him. 

Without looking back, Bucky responded, " _Vashe odobreniye nichego ne znachit dlya menya_." Natasha snorted. 

"He's cute," Becca said casually. 

"You shouldn't try to piss me off when I'm holding a knife," Bucky reminded her. Becca snickered but stayed quiet. 

After successfully harassing Steve, Winnifred left for her room, and Becca stole some of the food she helped prepare and flounced off to wherever she was going. Bucky didn't keep track of her.

"I didn't know your name was James," Steve said, sitting down next to Bucky on the couch. "Where'd Bucky come from?"

"My middle name," Bucky said. "Buchanan. Ma has this weird thing about old presidents."

Steve nodded, like this made sense. "I also didn't know you spoke Russian."

Bucky snorted. "There's a lot you don't know about me, _goryachaya shtuchka_."

"Hopefully not for long," Steve replied mildly. Bucky looked over at him in surprise. Steve's face didn't carry a trace of mockery. 

"We've got snacks!" Clint said dramatically, stepping into the room with Natasha and Sam trailing behind him. "Chips, chocolate, and Becca's caramels!"

Bucky snorted. "You know she probably spat in those, right?"

"I don't give a damn," Clint said through a mouthful of caramel. "They're so damn good I'd eat them if she put rat poison in them."

"You do you, Clint," Sam mumbled. 

Studying only lasted around an hour before they all decided to give up the pretence that they were actually doing anything. 

"So how'd you end up at Brooklyn Secondary?" Clint asked.

"Dad couldn't find any good military schools, so he just chucked me into the closest public school," Steve said, stretching his arms above his head. Bucky resolutely did not look at the exposed skin of his midriff. 

"So are you sticking around?" Natasha asked, and Steve shrugged.

"I have no idea," he said. "Dad can get antsy if he's in one place for too long. I'm hoping it won't be for a little while."

"It must be hard, leaving your friends behind all the time," Sam said. He was actually listening to the conversation, cradling a glass of Coke in his hands. 

"Sometimes. We haven't really stayed in one place long enough for me to get attached to anyone."

"And your girlfriend?" Bucky found himself asking. "Leaving her behind must have been tough."

Steve looked down at his phone. His screensaver was a picture of him and the pretty brunette from the newspaper. They were smiling at each other. Bucky looked away.

"Yeah," he finally said. "It sucked."

Clint's phone buzzed, and he cursed. "Shit, I need to get home. Nat, you need a ride?"

"May as well," Natasha said, pushing herself off the couch. "I'm working breakfast tomorrow."

"Where do you work?" Steve asked curiously. 

"It's a Russian themed diner," Natasha replied. "Pretty dodgy. Mostly full of old men who fled during Stalin."

The diner didn't really have a name; it was just the Russian diner that everyone with a European background went to. Bucky, Sam and Clint had taken to hanging out there after school on the days Natasha worked. 

"I need to leave, too," Sam said, looking at his phone. 

"Why?" Bucky asked curiously. "You don't have training tonight."

"Yeah, but I've got stuff to do."

"Stuff?"

Sam almost glared. "Yeah. Stuff."

Bucky blinked. "Sure. I'll see you tomorrow?"

Sam shrugged and gathered his books, walking out the door without a second glance. Natasha gave Bucky a look. Clint was just confused.

"Well we'll see you tomorrow, Jamie," Clint said, grinning.

"Never call me Jamie again."

Natasha snickered and followed Clint out the door, flashing a peace sign before she left. Then Bucky found himself sitting with Steve Rogers, alone, in his house. 

"I should get outta here, too," Steve finally said. "I need to jump on the bus before it gets dark, otherwise I'll get lost again. Everywhere looks the same."

Bucky snorted. "Yeah. Welcome to Brooklyn."

Steve just grinned. "Well, at least Dad didn't buy some ridiculously big house I'd get lost in again. I prefer the small apartment with the crazy old neighbours."

Bucky wondered how Steve could be so cheerful and upbeat all the time.

"Can you point me towards the bus stop?"

"I can walk you."

Steve's eyes crinkled. "Thanks."

Neither of them moved. 

"Did you draw that?" Steve asked curiously. Bucky looked over. He'd left one of his half-finished sketches on the kitchen counter. Steve walked over and picked up the piece of paper, his eyes wide.

"Yeah," Bucky said uncomfortably. "It's just a rough draft."

"You kidding? This is amazing!" Steve said. His eyes were alight. "Is it just a hobby, or are you looking to start a career in it?"

"Hopefully a career. I need to get into art school, of course, but after that, I was hoping graphic design? Or maybe I'll just sell stuff online and stay in my apartment like a gremlin."

Steve laughed. "I think you're a bit too pretty to be a gremlin, Buck."

Bucky felt his cheeks flush, and he cleared his throat. "What about you? What would you wanna do?"

Steve bit his lip, and for the first time, he looked... Unsure. Embarrassed. "I don't know. My dad wants me to join the army."

Bucky felt a flash of irritation towards Steve's father. "Well, I didn't ask what he wanted you to do. What do you want to do?"

Steve was quiet. "Music," he finally said. "I play guitar and piano. I can sing. I'd like to do something with that."

"And there's something wrong with that?"

Steve bit his lip. "My dad thinks so. He says that music isn't a good career choice for a man unless they're 'a pansy'." He used finger quotes for the last word.

"Then your dad's an idiot," Bucky said, raising an eyebrow in challenge. "Just because he thinks that doesn't mean he's right, or that he has the right to decide what you want to do with your life."

Steve was looking at him strangely. Bucky felt his face heat up. It was at that moment that Bucky's mother decided to show her face.

"Hey, guys," she said, walking into the room. Bucky realised how close he and Steve had been standing, and scooted away before his ma could notice. "James, your sister's going to be staying at a friend's place. Steve, do you have any plans tonight?"

"I mean, Dad and I were going to have dinner together, but he's at some reunion thing with his military buds," Steve said, smiling at Winnifred.

"You can stay here for dinner," Winnifred offered. "If you aren't expected home at any time."

Steve glanced over at Bucky. "Are you sure? I don't want to overstay my welcome."

He sounded unsure. Bucky bit his lip to hide his smile. 

"Oh, you won't be, dear. James may act like he doesn't care, but he is really the sweetest _malen'kiy mal'chik_ in the world."

"Ma," Bucky groaned. Steve just laughed softly.

"Well, in that case..."

"Don't you start," Bucky warned, and Steve just laughed again.

Routine was a weird thing, Bucky thought. But it was one of the only constants in his life, so Bucky loved routine. But then Steve wandered into the kitchen, talking to Bucky's mother like he'd known her his whole life, and suddenly Bucky's routine had morphed to include Steve Rogers having dinner at Bucky's house on Friday nights after study group. Of course, Bucky didn't know that at the time. Instead, he watched a tall, attractive blonde boy helping his mother make a potato salad in his kitchen. So, the only reasonable thing for Bucky to do was to help. 

"You need to show me your room after this," Steve said quietly, nudging Bucky's shoulder. "I wanna say I knew the next Van Gogh before he was famous."

"You think I'm gonna chop off my earlobe?" Bucky asked in amusement. Steve just shrugged, a grin on his face.

"Not sure yet. Still doing the calculations in my head."

Bucky snorted and nudged Steve back. "Fine. But only if you play me some music sometime."

Steve rolled his eyes, smiling. "We'll see."

 

\-------

 

Apparently, Bucky was going to go to the End Of Year Formal. He was not happy about it. After some intense discussion in his friendship group, brought on by Natasha who insisted that Sam and Bucky needed people to go with, Sam would take his friend Maria who he used to train with. Bucky resolutely refused to pick someone to go to the dance with for a good few weeks until he was cornered by Wanda Maximoff.

"I know that you don't want a date to go to the dance, and neither do I," she started off. She had a very thick Russian accent. Bucky knew that his mother would like her. "So I thought that if we said that we were going together, people would stop bugging us about getting a date."

And that was how Bucky ended up with a date. Wanda Maximoff was a sweet girl, but she was completely uninterested in him as anything other than friends. It was a huge relief. 

Steve became a key member of the Formal decorating committee, which was apparently a subcommittee that existed. He managed to convince Bucky to dress up for the dance - how he achieved that, Bucky will never know. 

In maths, they learned about outliers - statistical anomalies that laid outside the main data set. The outliers never fitted the pattern the rest of the figures were attempting to make. They basically threw the whole thing off balance. Bucky realised that Steve was a bit of a statistical anomaly; an outlier that nobody can really place. He hung out with the band geeks, and the chess club members, even though he'd confessed to Bucky that he had no idea how to play chess. He was a part of the Populars group, but was spending less and less time with them. Apparently, Steve enjoyed hanging out with Bucky and his group the most, and because of that little fact, they were immune from anything that would normally befall them, like Rumlow's bored little pranks.

Steve made them eat lunch in the cafeteria every day. They had their own table near the back, and sometimes, if it was warm enough, they'd go and eat outside on the grass. Tony sometimes joined them, usually with the latest story about Pepper Potts or the unlucky person he'd decided to hack out of sheer boredom. Sometimes he brought cards. Steve was surprisingly good at poker. Bucky could not read Steve's face at all when he was playing. It was intriguing.

Rumlow hadn't harassed Bucky or his friends in weeks. Wanda Maximoff had started sitting next to Bucky in biology. She did have a brother; a twin. His name was Pietro. 

Bucky's life had been turned upside down. His theory was that Steve was some kind of angel, that saw the bullshit Bucky's own guardian angel (paired with Stalin) had been putting him through, and decided to spread a bit of joy into Bucky's cold, dead heart. 

Friday's routine had changed drastically and stayed changed. Natasha, Clint, Sam and Steve would all walk to Bucky's house with him after school. They would study, eat and have a conversation about something stupid that nobody agreed on. Then Sam would leave, then Clint and Natasha would leave soon after. Sam would not stay for dinner, no matter how many times Bucky asked. His strange behaviour had not improved, and it was making Bucky more and more worried. But he was also pissed, because Bucky could never go very long without feeling some sort of anger. 

Steve stayed for dinner on Friday nights, since his dad was always out. It was usually some get-together with old military buds, but in truth, Steve didn't say much about it. When Steve was there, they talked. Sometimes Bucky drew. Sometimes they watched a movie. Sometimes Steve convinced Bucky to try and teach him some Russian, but he always forgot it immediately afterwards. Sometimes Steve left early - Bucky assumed for marathon Skype sessions with dark haired, dark eyed, red-lipped and probably military-child Peggy the Girlfriend. 

In all honesty, Bucky had had a minor freak-out the first time that Steve was in his room. Steve had sat on his bed, and all Bucky could think was _Lisus Khristos, there's an attractive boy on my bed._ When he'd told Natasha this, she had slapped him upside the head and called him an idiot. Somehow, that had helped. 

"Are you some kind of angel?" Bucky asked absentmindedly one Friday night, after everyone else had left. He was sitting on his bed, back against the wall and sketchbook in his lap, drawing idly. Steve had his head on Bucky's outstretched leg, and was reading. 

Steve looked up from his book, eyebrow quirked. "Explain."

"I mean, you appear out of the blue from a different country, and suddenly I am no longer getting humiliated on a daily basis. Clint hasn't been punched in over a month, which is probably a record," Bucky mused. "It was like in every possession movie ever, where an evil spirit or demon is released from a cursed object or whatever, and they cause as much destruction as they possibly can, but the complete opposite. Opposite of a demon is an angel."

"You seem to have put a lot of thought into this little theory," Steve said. He sounded amused.

Bucky realised he was drawing Steve again - not uncommon. He put the sketchbook down. "It's not like I have anything better to do."

"What, think about me as an angel?"

"I mean, come up with ridiculous conspiracy theories that make no sense," Bucky corrected, feeling the corners of his lips tug upwards. "But if you really think about it, it's not that ridiculous."

Steve rolled his eyes. "I think you're overestimating my superpowers."

"I never said superpowers," Bucky argued, poking the side of Steve's head with his thumb. "I said whatever the opposite of evil is, incarnated."

"I know you're not a fan of Brock and those guys, but they aren't that bad. You ever think that maybe you're a bit biased?"

Bucky felt himself laugh. "I'm not biased, _dorogiye_. They're assholes. No reason, no conscience, no brains."

Steve chuckled. "Brock isn't exactly a knife-wielding maniac, Bucky."

"That remains to be seen. But anyway, I never understood why you'd wanna be friends with them."

"Jamie," Steve said accusingly.

"Stevie," Bucky retorted.

Steve knew he hated Jamie. He knew Steve hated Stevie. They used the accursed nicknames so often now that they had almost become pet names.

Steve rubbed his hands over his eyes. He looked tired. "The thing is... I've been to so many schools, Buck. And there are Brock Rumlow's at every one of them." He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up. "Honestly, the majority of them wouldn't really care about me if my dad wasn't famous and they didn't find me above average in looks."

Bucky held his tongue to stop himself from blurting out something about how Steve was much more than just above average in looks.

"I'm not that dumb," Steve continued. "But as long as I'm here, I may as well not stress about it, because I can't do anything about the people I'm stuck with. And as soon as I stop being hung up about it, everything's a lot easier."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "You feel like you're stuck with us?"

Steve sighed. "No Bucky, that's not what I meant. You guys are amazing - it's such a nice break to be around people who don't give a damn about whatever D-list celebrities I've met like, once. And, well..." Steve trailed off.

"What?" Bucky asked curiously. 

Steve shook his head, looking up to smile at Bucky. "Nothing. I should get home."

Bucky frowned. "You sure?"

"Yeah," Steve said. He stood up and stretched. Bucky looked away. "I have a hot date on Skype with some friends in London. And anyway, I'm tired. I'll see you tomorrow."

Bucky was momentarily distracted by a flash of Peggy the Girlfriend in a dress that matched her lips reclining in front of a webcam, and shook it out of his mind. 

"Tomorrow?"

Steve raised an eyebrow, looking amused. "The beach party. After that football game? It's going to be warm, which is a nice change from the shitstorm weather."

Bucky laughed. "You mean Rumlow's beach party? As much faith as I have in your powers, Rogers, I am not going to test it near Rumlow and a large body of water. And anyway, I'm pretty sure I'm not invited."

Steve looked at him innocently. "But I'm inviting you. And do you really want to be the only one missing out?" At Bucky's confused look, Steve rolled his eyes. "The others are coming too."

"You managed to rope Sam into it? How?" Bucky asked. He was just a little bit impressed. 

Steve shrugged. He was grinning. "You should have more faith in my powers, Jamie."

Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair. " _Chert voz'mi_ , fine. I'll come."

Steve beamed. "Awesome. I'll see you then."

He left Bucky's room, before poking his head back in almost immediately. "You'd better wear swimwear, Barnes. I'll be here at ten."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Unlikely."

Steve grinned again, and disappeared again. "And pack sunscreen!" he yelled, before the front door closed behind him. 

It took Bucky a couple of minutes to realise exactly what he'd agreed to. He groaned softly, knocking his head against the wall. He was going to a beach party. 

He really needed to learn how exactly Steve managed to get him to agree to everything, because it was getting a little out of hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> moye ditya- my child  
> Ni slova - not a word  
> On ochen' krasivyy, Dzheyms. ya odobryayu - he is very handsome, James. I approve  
> Vashe odobreniye nichego ne znachit dlya menya - your approval means nothing to me  
> goryachaya shtuchka - hot stuff  
> malen'kiy mal'chik - little boy  
> Iisus Khristos - Jesus Christ  
> dorogiye - darling  
> Chert voz'mi - Fucking Christ


	6. Why People Should Wear More Clothes At The Beach - An Autobiography by Bucky Barnes

Bucky woke up feeling like a small person had been punching him from the inside of his chest for the entire night. The sun was streaming through the window, and Bucky grimaced when he realised that it was, unfortunately, going to be very hot later in the day. Slowly getting up, Bucky checked his phone. 9:03 am. That meant that Bucky had exactly 57 minutes to develop a serious disease or convince his mother and sister to drop their lives in Brooklyn and immediately move to Peru. Neither of those options would work. 

Bucky groaned, dragging himself to his wardrobe to find something remotely beach-appropriate. It wasn't as if Bucky was scrawny - far from it, but the idea of being in any kind of social situation where he had to show some skin made him shudder. Also, there was the tiny little fact that he was missing an arm. After a quick shower, Bucky finally chose black sweatpants and a light grey T-shirt, deciding that it was the safest option. Sam walked into the room without knocking, flopping down onto Bucky's bed. Bucky had to think to remember the last time Sam had been in his room.

"Maybe there'll be a tsunami," Sam said mildly. "Or a hurricane."

"Don't give me false hope," Bucky muttered, pulling on a pair of ratty old sneakers. Sam snorted. He was wearing cargo pants and a tighter-than-normal T-shirt. Bucky raised an eyebrow. "Trying to impress someone?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "It was my only clean shirt. And I think it shrunk in the wash." 

Bucky slumped against the wardrobe door, rubbing his eyes. "What the hell are we doing, Sam?"

Sam shrugged. "Ask your boyfriend."

Before Bucky could answer, Sam continued. "And anyway, Clint will do something stupid if we aren't there to pull him back, so let's just humour it in the spirit of friendship."

Bucky snorted. "I can't believe you just said 'spirit of friendship'."

"How else am I s'posed to explain it?" Sam asked, grinning. "Anyway, Clint and Nat came with me - they're chatting it up with your sister."

Bucky groaned. "They haven't told her about where we're going, right?"

"It was the first thing out of Clint's mouth." Sam stood up, punching Bucky's shoulder. "Now come on, get a towel and meet me downstairs. Steve will be here in, like, five minutes."

"I'm not going to be swimming."

Sam shrugged. "Towels are good for a lot of things. Sitting on. Mopping up blood. Hurry up."

Bucky groaned again but grabbed one of the towels his ma hoarded on his way downstairs. Natasha was standing in the middle of the room wearing a transparent dress over a black bikini, and was having her regular argument with Clint. Clint's boardshorts made Bucky want to gouge his eyes out. Becca was standing off to the side, a grin on her face.

"There he is!" Clint crowed as soon as he saw Bucky. "You didn't tell me you got lucky last night! Have to say, I'm hurt."

Bucky raised an eyebrow, then looked over at Becca, whose smile had widened into something resembling the Cheshire cat. "What did you say to him?"

"Nothing!" Becca said, her eyes wide and innocent. "It's just that you and Steve were making a lot of noise last night..."

"You weren't even here last night!" Bucky said, throwing his hand up in the air. Clint looked over at Becca, a wounded look in his eyes.

"Becks, is this true?"

Natasha snorted and punched him on the shoulder. The doorbell rang, and Bucky's stomach flipped. He should not have been so nervous about going to the beach. Natasha rolled her eyes and walked over to the door, opened it, and walked back without saying a word. Steve walked through the door, an eyebrow raised.

"Such a nice welcome," Steve said sarcastically.

"Only for you, dear," Natasha cooed, and Becca snorted. 

Steve turned to look at Bucky, and grinned. "You planning on wearing sweatpants to the beach?"

"If you were expecting Speedos, I'll have to say you should have seen this coming," Bucky retorted.

"Keep it in your pants, boys," Natasha muttered, and Clint snickered.

"Should we get going?" Sam said, and Bucky didn't know whether to thank him for changing the subject, or throw something at him.

"Good idea," Steve said, then grinned. "Man, the last time I was on a beach was in London. It was grey and cold and covered in rocks. I'm excited."

And just like that, any thought of skipping out on the day disappeared from Bucky's head.

 

\-----

 

It was on the train on the way when Sam leaned over. "What's going on with you and Rogers?"

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"It's blatant flirting, dude, on both sides. Are either of you going to do something about it?"

Bucky felt his face heat up. "Dude, we're friends. There's nothing like that happening between us."

"And that's why Steve's looking at you like you hung the moon?" Sam asked, grinning. Bucky glanced to his left to see Steve turn his head away. 

"He might not have been looking at me."

Sam groaned. "You're an idiot. Both of you are."

Bucky hastily changed the subject. "Assuming we're not killed on sight, what are we supposed to do today?"

"Swim? Talk to people?"

"And what do normal guys talk about, exactly?"

Sam shrugged. "Dunno. Football. Boobs."

Bucky winced. "So we're both screwed?"

"At least we're going down together," Sam said darkly, and Bucky snorted.

 

\--------

 

Bucky knew he was screwed as soon as they got onto the beach. Sure, he already knew that he was screwed, but actually being at his place of inevitable death really did it for him. Rumlow and his buddies were playing volleyball in boardshorts, like some kind of low-budget high school movie. The girls in their year level were spread out on beach towels and under umbrellas, and Bucky realised with a grimace that he was seeing much more of his classmates than he wanted to. 

Sam tensed up at his side, and Bucky looked over at him.

"You okay?" Bucky asked lowly. Sam's jaw tightened, and Bucky followed his gaze to see T'Challa looking in their direction, Okoye and his sister, Shuri, beside him. 

"I wouldn't have come if I knew he was gonna be here," Sam muttered. Bucky raised an eyebrow.

"What exactly happened between you two? Last I knew, all you did was stare at him in English class."

Shuri said something to T'Challa, and Okoye punched her shoulder. T'Challa seemed to take a deep breath, and stood up, making his way over to them.

Sam's eye twitched. "I'm going for a swim."

"Aren't you gonna talk to him?"

Sam just glared at him and jogged off towards the water, pulling his shirt off as he went. Bucky glanced back towards T'Challa, who had stopped and was watching Sam. 

"What's going on with Sam?" Natasha asked curiously. Bucky snorted.

"If you manage to get something out of him, I will be so surprised I'll probably have a heart attack. He's not saying anything."

Natasha shrugged. "Wait until I get out the vodka, _pank_."

Before Bucky could respond, he felt someone nudge his shoulder. He looked up to see Steve standing next to him, an eyebrow raised.

"You gonna stand there the entire time or are you gonna come and sit down with me?" he asked. 

"I guess someone's gotta keep an eye on you," Bucky muttered, and Steve grinned. They sat down next to Wanda and Pietro, who gave them matching grins.

" _Ey moryak_ ," Wanda chirped. "Didn't think you'd make it."

"I didn't either," Bucky said, and Pietro laughed. Natasha joined them, pulling Clint by his ear.

"I take my eye off you for one second," she was scolding. Clint kept muttering _ow, ow, ow_ under his breath. 

"What did he do?" Steve asked amusedly. Natasha just shot him an exasperated look. They were then interrupted rather rudely by Sharon Carter, who was wearing literally the bare minimum, in a hot pink bikini that made Bucky's eyes hurt.

"Stevie, you made it!" she squealed, and leaned over to kiss Steve's cheek. She completely ignored everyone else. Bucky saw Natasha roll her eyes rather comically, and tried not to laugh.

"Hey, Sharon. How was the football game?"

"Well, the football team won." Sharon waved her hands as if that wasn't a big deal. "And my cheer squad did perfectly. You should've seen us." She batted her eyelashes.

"Has anyone learned how to do a backflip yet?" Natasha asked innocently. Sharon's eye twitched, but that was the only indicator she gave that she had heard Natasha. Bucky noticed the people around them listening attentively, expressions ranging from amusement to tense eagerness. Bucky silently hoped that Natasha would keep prodding at Sharon, but he also didn't want to bail her out of prison again.

"I'm really glad you made it, Stevie," Sharon purred. Bucky resisted the urge to vomit. "I wanted to hear the rest of your story about that party you were at last week."

"The one where the star of Teen Wolf showed up?" Steve asked, raising an eyebrow. "I dunno, they all seem to kinda blend together. It's really not as exciting as you might think."

"Aw, I reckon you have heaps of stories," Sharon said. She was basically in Steve's lap by that point. Bucky saw Wanda and Pietro trying desperately not to laugh. "I'd love to hear them sometime. We should hang out. Maybe at Mindy's after school one day?"

Pretty much everyone listening to the conversation froze. Clint's eyes were practically coming out of his skull, Natasha's eyebrows had receded past her hairline, and the twins were watching with absolute glee. It took Bucky a few seconds to realise what just happened.

Sharon Carter just invited Steve to the pathetic, 1950's themed diner next to the soulless multiplex cinema in the mall. Sharon Carter just asked Steve Rogers out. 

Steve just smiled. "Honestly Sharon, I'd love to. But I'm just so busy on school nights. Mondays and Wednesdays I have Formal committee meetings, Tuesday is band, and Thursday my dad and I hang out."

"What about Friday?" Sharon asked. She looked very confused - Bucky wondered if she'd ever been turned down before.

"Oh, I have a study group at Bucky's house," Steve said, almost conversationally. Sharon's eye twitched, and it looked like she was trying very hard to not start screaming.

"Then maybe on the weekends?" she asked sweetly. 

Steve shrugged. "Sure, but I'm still really busy. I can text you?"

"You can text me any time," Sharon purred. Jesus Christ, this woman could not take a hint. Bucky saw Natasha about to make some kind of jab - which frankly would be a mix of hilarious and horrifying - but Steve's phone buzzed. He picked it up, and smiled, but there was something weird going on around his eyes. Bucky couldn't place it.

"It's Peggy," he said, almost conversationally. "Man, the London weather is terrible compared to here."

Wanda cooed, although Bucky wasn't sure whether it was because she was genuinely invested in Steve's relationship with Peggy the red-lipped, leather jacket wearing, military child girlfriend, or if she was just doing it to piss Sharon off. The second option obviously worked, because Sharon's face froze and she stopped trying to crawl into Steve's lap. 

"Anyway, call me," she said, and, with a wink, she sauntered off. Bucky was about 99% sure she was purposefully swaying her hips. Steve looked over at Bucky, an almost sheepish expression on his face.

"How you doing there, Barnes? Not too worried about getting disembowelled?"

"Yes, I'm fantastic," Bucky deadpanned. "Absolutely loving this extremely hot weather, and definitely do not feel uncomfortable with the obvious lack of arm."

Steve huffed out a laugh and punched his shoulder. "Ever thought the lack of an arm is actually working for you?"

Without giving Bucky a chance to respond, Steve pulled off his shirt and flopped back onto the sand, slipping a pair of sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose. Bucky's face felt so hot he could barely breathe, so he opted to say nothing. When he looked over, Wanda was grinning at him.

Natasha and Clint were in the middle of a conversation with Thor and Loki Odinson, Valkyrie, and Jane. Bucky hadn't had much experience with them, but from what he gathered, Thor was very loud and enthusiastic, Loki was pretty much the exact opposite and probably a serial killer, Valkyrie was into alcohol and kicking people, and Jane was an aspiring astrophysicist. They were alright. Natasha had taken her dress off, and they were all was very interested in the scar on her stomach.

"It's obviously a bullet hole," Loki was insisting. "Look at the texture around the edges there - only something with tiny grooves could have made those."

"You overestimate the mighty Natasha's lifestyle, brother," Thor boomed. Natasha looked like she was trying not to laugh. "It is probably some kind of birthmark, is it not, Miss Romanov?"

"No, it's a bullet hole," Clint said, and Valkyrie grinned.

"Awesome."

"Told you it would be fine," Steve mumbled as Bucky leaned back on his elbow. "You worry too much, Jamie."

"Do I really deserve a Jamie?" Bucky asked.

"Probably not," Steve admitted with a grin.

Bucky buried his feet in the sand. He didn't know if it was the clear sky, or the warm weather, or the ocean or the fact that he had an evil-repelling force sitting _very close_ to his side, but Bucky was actually not having an awful time. It was somewhat a surprise. Feeling slightly hot, Bucky tugged his shirt off, throwing it onto the bag Clint had insisted on bringing. He noticed that Valkyrie had stopped listening to whatever Jane was saying to look over at him. He raised an eyebrow in challenge.

"Dude, how long do you spend at the gym?" Valkyrie finally asked. She sounded impressed. Bucky blinked. That was not what he'd been expecting at all.

"Uh... I go about once or twice a week, for 45 minutes."

Valkyrie nodded. "You should spar with me sometime. It'll be fun."

Bucky huffed out a laugh. "I think you have a bit of an advantage there."

Valkyrie shrugged. She was grinning. "Then it'll be fun for me to kick your ass."

Bucky couldn't help but grin back.

Suddenly there was a loud scream, and Bucky wondered idly if Earth was finally being invaded, and if he really cared. Someone had thrown Lillian-with-the-lip-piercing into the water, and she came up laughing. Beside them, Pietro stretched and pulled Wanda up, and they ran into the ocean with about ten other people. 

"Let's get ice cream," Steve said suddenly. Bucky raised an eyebrow, but allowed Steve to grab his hand and pull him up.

"Not a fan of the water?" Bucky asked when they were a satisfying distance away from the group. Steve made a face. He didn't let go of Bucky's hand.

"Actually, I never really learned to swim."

Bucky couldn't help the smile on his face. Steve looked at him and rolled his eyes. "Yes, I know. Hilarious."

"No, it's not that," Bucky protested. "It's just... I didn't think you wouldn't be able to swim. You seem into that kind of stuff."

Steve shrugged. "I guess I just never learned."

Bucky contemplated that for a moment. "Come on," he finally said, pulling Steve towards the water.

"What are you doing?" 

"Teaching you how to swim," Bucky replied. He let go of Steve's hand as soon as his feet touched the waves, and turned around to put his hand on his hip.

"I dunno, Buck," Steve said. He looked doubtful. Bucky grinned at him, and started to walk backwards. The bottom of his track pants were in the water.

"I promise to pull you to safety if you almost drown."

Steve huffed out a laugh, and, feeling satisfied, Bucky turned around and walked deeper into the ocean. The air was crisp and salty, and the sun beat down so much that the cool water was heaven on Bucky's skin. He shivered when the waves lapped at his hips, just above the waistband of his pants. 

"I wouldn't have thought you were a beach person," Steve's voice came from behind him. Bucky turned around, and grinned when he saw Steve following him into the water. He stopped in front of Bucky, and folded his arms over his chest. 

"Anyone with common sense is a beach person, Stevie," Bucky replied, and Steve made a face.

"I guess I don't have any common sense, then."

Bucky laughed. "I already knew that." He held out a hand. "Now c'mon. We gotta get into deeper water."

Steve reluctantly took his hand, and let Bucky guide him deeper into the water. They were far enough away from the rest of the group to not be disturbed, but still close enough to hear the shrieks of delight from whoever was being flung into the waves. Bucky felt the water slide over his shoulders, and let go of Steve's hand.

"Just lift your feet off the floor, and tread water."

Unsurprisingly, Steve turned out to be as good at swimming as he was at everything else, and in a matter of minutes, he had gone under to pull Bucky's feet out from under him. Bucky yelped as he went under, and came up sputtering. Only the top half of Steve's face was out of the water, but Bucky could tell he was smirking.

"If I'd known you were going to do that, I would never have let you come into the water with me in the first place." Steve's eyes twinkled.

Bucky huffed, then tackled Steve under the water. Steve came up laughing, and they then proceeded to wrestle like children until they were both out of breath. They were shoulder-deep in the water together, laughing breathlessly. Despite the chilly water, Bucky felt warm all over, like he'd just been sitting next to a fire. Steve bumped their foreheads together, and it was only then that Bucky realised just how close they really were. His legs were wrapped around Steve's torso, and Steve's arms were around his waist. Bucky could feel the wet strands of Steve's hair under his fingertips. 

It was Steve who pulled away first, a smile on his face and looking like it hadn't affected him whatsoever. "Come on. I remember offering ice cream."

Bucky's face was burning, and he realised how out of breath he was. Running a hand through his dripping hair, Bucky followed Steve out of the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> pank - punk  
> Ey moryak - hey sailor


	7. Bonding Over Daddy Issues Is Great Pillow Talk

Bucky managed to make it through the beach party without being humiliated or drowned. This, he figured, was a miracle. People seemed genuinely disappointed when they left early, although Bucky wasn't sure how much of that was because of Steve. Valkyrie gave Bucky her number and made him promise that he'd come to her gym sometime. Clint had somehow become best friends with Thor. Wanda, Pietro and Natasha kept looking over at Bucky and Steve and whispering in Russian, giant grins on their faces. Bucky chose to not listen to them. Sam had come back to shore, and had curtly said that he was going to go ahead and wait for them at the train station. He ignored T'Challa's attempts to get his attention, and Bucky noticed Nakia from his business class grab T'Challa's shoulder when he tried to follow Sam, shaking her head slightly. Steve waved at Sharon and walked away before she could kiss him, and Bucky felt satisfaction in the way she almost fell over, not realising he'd moved away.

It wasn't the best day of Bucky's life. But it definitely wasn't the worst, either.

Steve's feet were propped up on the train seat next to Bucky. He was humming something under his breath. He had a nice voice, Bucky realised. The sun was slowly dipping down past the horizon, and the sky was turning pink. Bucky felt oddly serene, despite having sand lodged in places that sand definitely didn't belong. Steve's feet were still covered in sand. Bucky brushed some off absently.

"Anyone wanna come back to mine?" Steve asked, looking up from his phone. Natasha groaned.

"Dude, I wish. I have a shift in like, half an hour. Believe me, I would much rather lie on the floor of your house and eat pizza."

Clint groaned, too. "Damnit, I promised your manager that I'd be there."

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because last week you threatened a guy with a knife," Clint pointed out. "And apparently you're in a less stabby mood if I'm around."

"I have a legal essay," Sam said resignedly. "I gotta finish it this weekend, or else I won't have time."

Steve nudged Bucky with his foot. "What about you, Barnes? Big plans?"

Bucky's immediate thought was to get home and have a very long shower, but put it out of his mind. "Yeah, I guess I'm free."

Steve grinned. "Great."

Bucky couldn't help but smile back. Steve's hair was wind-tousled and sticking up from the salt, and Bucky resisted the urge to run his hands through it. His eyes were really blue in the light of the sunset. Clint loudly cleared his throat. When Bucky looked at him, he was smirking.

Steve and Bucky were the first of the group to get off the train. Steve lived on the edge of Bucky's neighbourhood, where the old suburbs ended and the modern apartments began. His apartment complex was big and old, managing to both give off serial killer and movie star vibes. Steve tossed his bag onto the floor in the entranceway and smiled ruefully over his shoulder. 

"Sorry about the mess. Dad's not really into cleaning."

"I can see that," Bucky replied, looking over the lounge room. The only reason he thought it was a lounge room was because there was a couch and a TV, but other than that it gave absolutely no indication. There were beer bottles across the floor, and several DVDs of what looked like porn sitting on the coffee table. It reminded Bucky of when his dad used to live with him.

"Dad's out, but he left pizza money," Steve continued, leaning down to pick up some of the bottles. "He probably won't be back until tomorrow. He must've had some friends over earlier though."

Bucky noticed Steve's smile was different to normal. Not by much, but enough that he noticed. Bucky didn't feel like a big fan of Steve's dad. 

Steve seemed to notice, and he smiled apologetically. "Come on. Let's go to my room - I promise there are less beer bottles."

Bucky forced a smile back, and followed Steve down the corridor to the last door. Steve opened the door, and plopped himself onto the bed. The room was surprisingly bare, with the only furniture being a twin bed, a desk, a closet, and a chest of drawers that served as a bedside table. There was a picture on top of the drawers, of a blonde woman and a skinny boy that couldn't have been more than seven.

"Is that your mum?" Bucky asked. Steve glanced at the picture and smiled.

"Yeah. That was just after ma and dad got divorced. We were in Australia for a holiday. Down in Victoria. Gippsland lakes."

Bucky had no idea where that was, but he nodded and sat down on the bed next to Steve. He could see the top of a tree peeking out from under the window. There was another photo, next to the one of Steve and his ma. It was Steve, obviously taken recently, with his arm around the familiar red-lipped Peggy the girlfriend. They seemed to be at some kind of fundraiser, because they were both wearing formal dress. Peggy's dress matched her lips. Bucky felt Steve's eyes on him as he studied the picture, and nodded to it.

"How long have you guys been going out?" Bucky asked, turning around to look at Steve, who grimaced.

"Actually, Buck, I haven't been completely honest with you," he said uneasily. "And I think it'll make me sound like a total idiot."

"What?" Bucky asked curiously. Steve blushed.

"Peggy and I broke up. Before I moved here. We were friends, and then we kinda dated for a bit, but it didn't work out. It's just that..." He trailed off. "I'm not really the type of person to date a lot. And being the new guy attracts a lot of attention. When Sharon and those girls were hanging around, Peggy just kinda... slipped out. And then I ran with it, because it gave me an excuse to not date anyone."

"So Peggy's like your straight beard?" 

Steve laughed. "Yeah, I guess. But I'm not straight."

Bucky blinked. Steve was about the most heterosexual person he'd ever met. "Really?"

"Yeah. I'm bi." Steve raised an eyebrow. "Is that a problem?"

"No, of course not!" Bucky blurted out. He felt his face heat up. "No, I'm gay, so... can't really be homophobic, can I?"

Steve's cheeks turned pink. "Right. Sorry, I just usually don't get a positive reaction when I tell people that."

To try and stop all the blood in his body from rushing to his head, Bucky quickly changed the subject. "So, if it wasn't Peggy, then who kept texting you today? You didn't look that pumped with whoever it was."

Steve looked up in surprise. "You noticed? That would be my dad. He can be... difficult to deal with."

Bucky felt another wave of dislike towards Joseph Rogers, but swallowed it down. Steve then grinned and stood up, pulling Bucky with him. "Come on. I wanna show you something."

"I hope it isn't your collection of human skulls," Bucky deadpanned, and Steve laughed. He grabbed two cans of Coke from the mini fridge that Bucky hadn't even noticed in the corner of the room.

"No, nothing that exciting." He opened the window and, to Bucky's surprise, climbed out onto a tiny balcony. There was a cover over the top (which was good, because it looked like it was about to rain), and a couple of beanbags. Steve fell onto one of them, and Bucky gingerly sat down on the other. Sand grated against his thighs, and Bucky almost didn't care. The sky had turned darker, with blues and purples rolling over the horizon and turning the clouds black. Manhattan was visible across the river, the lights bright and teeming with life. Bucky stretched out, and his leg bumped against Steve's. Neither of them moved.

"You approve?" Steve asked.

"Of your place? It's nice," Bucky said, before pausing. "Could do with a cleanup."

Steve snorted. "I know. But it's the nicest place we've had in a while. In Afghanistan, we lived in the barracks. When I was with my ma in Africa we lived in a small hut with barely enough room for two people, and we were staying with a family of five. And in London, all I could smell was smog and cigarettes."

"What a glamorous life."

Steve grimaced. "I know, right? One party after another."

Bucky paused. "What's it like? Living with your dad?"

Steve sighed and looked down. He absently took Bucky's hand and traced circles on the back of it, and Bucky let him. "Let's just say it's like living with an active volcano."

Bucky winced. Steve turned to look at him. "What about you? I haven't heard anything about your dad."

"There isn't much to tell," Bucky admitted. "He was in the army. When he got back, he wasn't the same. He drank a lot, started hitting my ma. He started getting violent towards Becca and me, too. Ma only kicked him out when..." Bucky stopped himself, and bit his lip.

"You don't have to tell me," Steve said gently. Bucky closed his eyes, and tightened his grip on Steve's hand. Steve squeezed back. 

"It was two years ago. Ma was working a late shift at the hospital. I needed a lift home from a friend's place. Dad was drunk. He..." Bucky let out a shuddering breath. "He didn't see the truck until it was too late."

Steve squeezed his hand again, and Bucky laid his head on Steve's shoulder. He could hear the pulse in Steve's neck. "Dad was uninjured, save for a few burns. I... I was hit by a chunk of metal. It sawed my arm half off. The doctors couldn't save it - they had to take the whole thing off."

Steve's arm was around his waist - Bucky didn't remember how it got there. He closed his eyes and breathed in. Steve smelled of salt and chocolate ice cream. Bucky must have imagined the brush of Steve's lips on the top of his head.

 

\------

 

"This is a bad idea," Natasha muttered. Bucky had to agree with her.

The Mixed Martial Arts Dojo looked like a cross between a Japanese tea room and a mediaeval torture chamber, stuck inside a warehouse from a horror movie. Bucky loved it. The last time he was there was when Sam was doing his dan black belt grading. The weapons on the walls were pretty cool - watching Sam get yelled at and kicked for six hours straight was not. Natasha spent the entire time glaring at Sam's instructors, and Clint cheered so much that he was kicked out. Still, Sam's photo - exhausted and grinning with his black belt in his hand - was hanging alongside the photos of the other black belts in the foyer.

"Come on, Nat," Clint said, bumping her with his shoulder. "If we do this, we might be able to figure out what's wrong with Sam."

"Yeah, I think I've already figured that out," Bucky said slowly. T'Challa was sparring on the other side of the dojo with Maria Hill, each with a staff in their hands. Clint's eyes widened.

"He dropped out because T'Challa joined?"

"No," Natasha said, frowning. "Look at T'Challa's belt - it's brown. He's been here for a few years, at least."

"Then why wouldn't Sam tell us about it?" Bucky murmured. 

"And why did he drop out just now?" Clint added. T'Challa looked up then, and even from across the warehouse Bucky saw his eyes widen. He dropped the staff, muttered something to Maria, and jogged across the room to them.

"Is Sam with you?" he asked as soon as he got to them. Bucky raised an eyebrow.

"No. We came here to try and figure out what's wrong with him."

T'Challa fiddled with the ring on his finger. He looked distressed - something Bucky had never seen before. From what he'd gathered in the few years he'd been general acquaintances with T'Challa, he was a pretty chill guy, and definitely didn't get riled up easy.

"What exactly is going on with Sam?" Natasha asked curtly. T'Challa flinched, and hunched his shoulders. In any other situation, it would be funny, considering that Natasha barely came up to T'Challa's elbow. 

"I don't know," he whispered. His eyes were so full of pain it took Bucky by surprise - whatever was wrong with Sam, T'Challa didn't know either.

It was later that day, when Bucky was sitting on his bed with his back against the wall and Steve's legs propped up on his own, that he voiced his concerns.

"I don't think Sam's okay."

Steve looked up from his computer, his eyebrows furrowed. Bucky leaned back so his head was against the wall, and closed his eyes. "He's been acting weird since the beginning of the year. He quit martial arts, which he's loved since we were twelve. I've tried talking to him about it, but... Sam doesn't like people prying into his stuff."

"Have you ever thought that Sam doesn't realize he needs help?" Steve asked gently.

"That's what Clint thinks. He's the reason we went to Sam's dojo earlier."

"But?"

Bucky took a deep breath. "But what if it's something I can't do anything about? What if it's something serious? I'm not an expert on this kind of thing." Bucky rubbed his eyes. "I... I've come to depend on Sam. He's solid and consistent and the only reason I haven't had a psychotic break and done something I regret. He's... He's been there for me through everything, and now he's not letting me be there for him."

Steve was quiet, but moved on the bed so that he was next to Bucky, their shoulders pressed together. Bucky felt Steve's hand slip into his own. 

"I know you're worried about him, Buck. I can see it," Steve murmured. Bucky breathed in deeply and closed his eyes, letting his head hit the wall again. "So what's your plan?"

"I don't know," Bucky admitted. "What would you do?"

"If I was you?" Bucky could hear the smile in Steve's voice. He just nudged him with his shoulder in response. "I wouldn't straight-out ask, obviously - that's not your style, Barnes."

"You don't need to tell me twice," Bucky said, turning his head to grin at Steve. Their faces were really close.

"Go back to the first moment you noticed the weirdness. An event, or a conversation, or something like that," Steve said, smiling back at Bucky. His breath smelled of peppermint and apples - a surprisingly nice mixture. Bucky made a note to experiment with apples and mint in cooking. 

"So the psychological equivalent of the bloody axe hiding in the closet?"

Steve laughed. "Exactly. Follow the clues. And don't trust anyone with an eye patch. Or anyone who runs an antique store."

"Or the seemingly sweet character who turns out to have a secret torture chamber?"

"Now there's a basic movie cliché. Does Wanda own a chainsaw?"

"The baby faced killer? Nice one, Rogers."

"So," Steve said, his eyes twinkling. "What are your top movie clichés, James?"

Bucky laughed. "Well, Steven, it depends entirely on the genre..."

He'd completely forgotten what they'd been talking about.


	8. Long-distance Sexting Is In

The holidays came surprisingly quickly. The beach party day turned out to be basically the last warm, happy day for six months, because immediately after the weather turned to grey skies and chilly winds. Bucky wasn't particularly upset about it - he'd always preferred cold weather. The holidays meant that everyone except Bucky was doing something. Sam was going down to DC to see his cousins, Natasha was going to be in Russia to spend some time with her dad, Clint was going on a road trip down south, and Steve was going to London with his dad to see Joseph Rogers' war buddies; and that meant that Steve would have Peggy the not-so girlfriend. That fact didn't make Bucky's stomach turn as much as it did a few months before.

It was Bucky's first Saturday of freedom when Bucky had walked into the lounge room to see his mother smoking a cigarette. She never smoked. When she turned to him, her eyes were red. Becca came out of the kitchen. Her hands were balled into fists and she was shaking.

That was how Bucky found out his dad had died.

He'd been found by his brother that morning, surrounded by bottles and choking on his own puke. The doctors couldn't save him.

Bucky's ears rang as he turned around and walked back to his room. He should have probably changed out of his pyjamas or showered or something. His vision was blurry. His feet wouldn't move. Reaching for his bedside table, Bucky picked up his phone. He didn't really know what he was doing until Steve answered.

"Jesus, the airport is freezing!" Bucky could hear the wind in the background. "Someone should tell these idiots that they should tell us if the plane is delayed before we step out into the cold."

"I just wanted to say bye," Bucky found himself saying. His voice sounded echoey.

Steve was quiet for a second. "What's wrong?"

"What makes you think something's wrong?"

"Jamie."

Bucky closed his eyes. "My dad died this morning."

As soon as he said it, Bucky's knees forgot how to hold up his body. He sat down on the edge of his bed. His throat felt dry and knotted. The end of the line was silent.

"Damnit," Steve swore. Bucky willed the lump in his throat away. He was not going to cry. Not with Steve on the phone. "This is the worst possible timing... Please tell me you're doing okay. Well, you can't really be doing okay, but in perspective-"

"Steve," Bucky cut in. "It's alright."

Steve took in a shaky breath. Bucky could almost see him running his hand through his hair. "Buck, I'm so sorry. I... I wish I could be there - god, Sam and Nat and Clint are gone, too, _shit_..." A boarding announcement sounded in the background, and Steve swore again. "Damnit, I need to get on a _plane_..."

"It's alright, Steve," Bucky said softly. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not," Steve said firmly. "I am going to call you as soon as my plane lands, you hear me? And you'd better pick up, otherwise, I'm coming straight back."

Bucky took in a shuddering breath. "Okay."

"And watch _Footloose._ It's my go-to happy movie - I got the recommendation from Quill. You'll love it."

Bucky felt an almost hysterical laugh tear its way out of his throat. "Okay. Thanks, Steve."

"If I could, I'd do everything for you, Bucky Barnes," Steve said seriously. Bucky didn't know how to respond, but Steve didn't give him much time before cursing. "Damnit, I really need to go. Seven hours, Buck." He hung up.

Bucky stared at his phone for what seemed like an hour. Then he put his head in his hand and cried.

 

\----

 

Bucky didn't know what he was doing. He laid on his bed in a semi-comatose state, barely moving when his ma came in. She didn't stay long. Becca left the house at some point, and she didn't come back for hours. Bucky numbly texted Sam, Clint and Natasha, but ignored the way his phone blew up with calls and messages. At some point he watched _Footloose._ It wasn't as bad as he'd thought it'd be.

It wasn't until 5 that night that Steve called. Bucky was sitting on his bed, re-watching _Footloose_ and wallowing in self-pity when Steve's Skype came up in the corner of his screen. Bucky clicked on the picture.

It took a moment for the connection to solidify, and Steve was there. Well, not really there, but close enough. He was wearing his typical leather jacket over a white shirt, and his hair was windswept and sticking up like he'd been electrocuted. Bucky regretted not cleaning up beforehand, because he probably looked like a literal zombie compared to Steve's Adonis.

"Don't you dare say you're fine, I can see that you're not," was the first thing out of Steve's mouth. Bucky blinked in surprise. He didn't really know how to respond to that. 

"Am I really that easy to read?"

"Not to most people. Also, you look like death."

"I feel like death, too," Bucky admitted. Steve's eyebrows furrowed together, his blue eyes wide and worried.

"I really wish I could be there with you," he said quietly. Bucky's stupid, traitorous heart gave a little jump. He had no idea why.

"...I wish you could be here, too," Bucky mumbled. Steve's lips pursed. Bucky realised just how nice those lips were.

"I promise you, as soon as I get back I'm gonna camp out on the floor of your room for like, a month."

Bucky had to laugh at that. "Why would you sleep on the floor? There's plenty of room in the bed."

Steve's eyes creased as he smiled. "I suppose there is. I'm warning you, I snore."

"I doubt you're as bad as Clint," Bucky said, making a face. "I don't know how Nat can stand it."

"Love makes people do strange things," Steve said. There was a look in his eyes that Bucky couldn't really place. The crummy quality of the video call made Bucky wish that Steve was there even more. The pixels didn't do his blue eyes justice.

A door opened loudly behind Steve, and they both jumped. A girl walked into the room, and Bucky realised with a start that it was Peggy, the not-so girlfriend.

"Steven, for Christ's sake, you don't even come and say hello to me," she said in a clipped British accent. She sounded exasperated. "After all I've done for you."

"The only thing you ever really did for me that came in handy was teaching me how to kiss," Steve shot back, and Peggy leaned down to press a kiss to his cheek. She noticed the laptop, and Bucky's zombie-like face on it, and visibly lit up.

"Are you Bucky?" she asked, almost excitedly. Bucky felt his face heat up. She was really pretty - so much so that it was kinda intimidating.

"Uh, yeah. Hi." Peggy practically beamed at him.

"I've been waiting so long to put a face to the name! Steve goes on about you all the time, you know-"

"Okay Carter, you gotta calm down there," Steve interrupted loudly. The bad video quality made it seem like Steve's cheeks were red. Peggy rolled her eyes.

"Well, I actually did come up here for a reason. Pizza's here - and you'd better come down quick, because Dave's getting handsy again and the only way I can make him stop without physically hurting him is to have you there."

Steve sighed. "Can't you just break his arm and be done with it?"

Peggy snorted. "Believe me, if I could, I would. Now come on." She waved at the screen. "Nice meeting you, Bucky."

"You too," Bucky mumbled. Peggy winked at him and sauntered back out of the room. Bucky tried not to laugh at Steve's face.

"So, that was Peggy," Steve said awkwardly.

"She seems great," Bucky said. Steve smiled.

"She is." The look on his face was almost dreamy, and Bucky felt a twist in his gut. Something must have shown on his face, because Steve leaned forward. "Okay. I have to go downstairs to save Peggy from my pervert cousin. But I am setting you two tasks."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Task one: have a shower."

Bucky snorted. "I think I can manage that."

Steve grinned. "I'm sure you can. Task two: I am sending you an address right now. Be there at ten tomorrow."

"It's not gonna be some sleazy place where someone will sell me into sex slavery?"

Steve laughed. "No, but I bet the sex slavery industry would love to get their hands on you - you're basically every sane person's dream."

Bucky was sure that his heart full on stopped for a few seconds there. He willed himself not to faint from all the blood that had suddenly rushed to his face. Steve didn't seem to notice.

"I probably won't be able to talk much the next few days - Peggy's somehow convinced me to get manicures with her and go shopping," Steve went on, and made a face. "I'll try to text you as much as I can. But in the meantime - you'd better get those missions done."

"Aye aye, Captain," Bucky said dryly. Steve went slightly pink. "Is there any chance you're gonna tell me what exactly I'm gonna be doing?"

"Nope," Steve said cheerfully. "That's part of the fun. I promise I won't let you get solved into sex slavery."

Bucky bit his lip to keep from smiling. It didn't work. "Okay, Stevie."

"I'll talk to you later," Steve promised, and then his eyebrows creased. "Take care of yourself, Buck."

Bucky's throat was tight. "Yeah. You too, _moya lyubov'_."

Steve smiled again, but this time it was sadder. The screen flickered black. It wasn't until several minutes later that Bucky realised what he'd said. He groaned and covered his face with his hand. If only Natasha could see him now.

 

\-----

 

Sam picked up on the second ring.

"I can't believe you wouldn't answer me!" he screeched. Bucky winced and held the phone away from his ear. "You text me literally two words saying 'dad died', and then radio silence for the rest of the day? You almost gave me a heart attack!"

"Sorry," Bucky mumbled. "I've just... I haven't really been in a talking sort of mood."

Sam sighed. "I get that, man. Just... try not to make me think you did something stupid, okay?"

"Impossible," Bucky replied. "Basically everything I do is stupid."

Sam let out a hysterical laugh. "Yeah, I know."

They slipped into silence. "How are you doing?" Sam finally asked.

"I don't know," Bucky sighed. "I spent all day lying in bed. Then Steve forced me to get up and have a shower."

"Was he in the shower too?" Sam asked.

"He's in London," Bucky said, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean was he-" The realisation dawned on him, and Bucky felt his cheeks heat up. "Oh."

Bucky could basically hear Sam's smirk through the phone. "Anyway, he's forcing me out of the house tomorrow to go to some address in Queens."

"Is he going to send you to a sex torture dungeon?" Sam asked curiously. Bucky rolled his eyes.

"I doubt it, although I'm still not completely sure I'm not gonna be sold into sex slavery."

"You'd make a decent prostitute," Sam admitted. 

"I'd make an _amazing_ prostitute," Bucky countered. "And apparently Steve thinks so, too."

"Come again?"

"He literally said to me that people would be crazy to not find me sexually attractive."

Sam practically shrieked with laughter. "He's so into you!"

"He isn't," Bucky argued. "Steve's just a nice person. He gives compliments all the time."

"To literally nobody but you."

Bucky's cheeks were burning. "Anyway, I'll be getting out of the house."

"I'm actually impressed," Sam mused. "As long as I've known you, you've never left the house when you were in one of your angsty moods for anyone. Not even me - and I was convinced that I was your favourite person."

"You wish," Bucky snorted. Sam cursed softly.

"Crap, I've gotta go. I promised my cousins I'd watch Disney movies with them."

"You're so caring," Bucky cooed. 

"You're a dick."

Sam hung up. Bucky looked at his phone, smiling faintly. Sam seemed to be acting less strange, which was a bonus. Maybe he'd finally patched things up with T'Challa...

Bucky was brought out of his musings by his phone ringing again. Natasha's face flashed up on his screen, and Bucky sighed. He really should've answered her call the first time.

 

\-----

 

The address in question was in a seedy neighbourhood, and Bucky once again prayed for there to be no extracurriculars that came with stepping foot into Queens' rancid armpit. Bucky was in an alley - a pretty gross alley, too, and that was coming from a Brooklyn-bred - and there was a blue door in the centre of the brick wall. There was a faded sign hanging a few feet above his head, the words _Black Dahlia_ written in cursive, and Bucky realised that he was standing at the back of an old pub. It did not quell his nerves to know that the place was named after the gruesome murder of a young woman.

The blue door was flung open, and a guy with bright purple hair came out, struggling with what looked like a busted-up motorbike. He glanced at Bucky, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Yeah?"

Bucky blinked at the hostility. "Uh... Steve Rogers sent me here?"

His face changed almost immediately, relaxing into an easy smile. "Oh, right. I'm Gabe. Dum Dum's been expecting ya." He turned back to the door and hollered through it. "Oi Morita! Get your lazy ass over here!"

A man with frankly incredibly styled eyebrows came out, and raised an eyebrow at Bucky. "Who's this?"

"Stevie's boy," Gabe replied, and Morita grinned. 

"We were all wonderin' who had Stevie wrapped around their finger," he said, and Bucky felt his face heat up. "Come on, boy."

Bucky cast a doubtful look back down the alley, wondering if it was too late to just back out and pretend that this never happened. Then he remembered Steve's grin, the twinkle in his eyes - _come on, Jamie, you gonna back out on me?_ So Bucky squared his shoulders and followed Morita and his impressive eyebrows into the old pub.

Inside, Bucky assumed that the space was once a bar, but had been transformed into a very large, very messy living room/dining room, with a pool table wedged in the corner and speakers on the bookshelves. Half a dozen guys were lounging around on couches and armchairs, most of them nursing a cup of coffee. It smelled like espresso and cigarettes and stale beer. Bucky immediately loved it.

The guys that weren't obviously hungover peered at Bucky, interest clear on their faces. One of them stood up, and stretched. He was obviously the oldest, and looked like the picture of a jolly man from the 1930s, complete with a bowler hat and a ridiculous handlebar moustache.

"You're Stevie's boy?" he asked, and stepped over a guy on the floor.

"Uh, yeah. It's Bucky." Bucky stumbled over his words, very not used to being called "Stevie's boy." He had to admit, it didn't sound awful. The man grinned, and shook Bucky's hand, his palm completely covering Bucky's fingers. Bucky may have been as tall as him, but the man was huge.

"I'm Dum Dum." He gestured at the men behind him. "These sad mopes are Dernier, Juniper, Falsworth, Happy Sam, and Pinky." Dum Dum paused. "Gabe's already left, and you've obviously met Morita."

The guys all nodded at Bucky, even the one on the floor - Dum Dum had said that one was Happy Sam. _Fitting name,_ Bucky thought sarcastically. The man looked like death.

Dum Dum clasped his hands together. He looked excited. "Alright, let's head upstairs, shall we?"

It seemed pointless to argue, so Bucky followed him up the rickety staircase that creaked under his feet and made him nervous. The level above branched into a wide corridor with chipped blue doors leading off. If Bucky had to guess, he'd say it was the old hotel that was above so many of the dilapidated pubs. Dum Dum led him into a room at the far end of the corridor. There were boxes and filing cabinets stuffed with loose leaves of paper, but it took Bucky a few seconds to realise that it was sheet music paper. There was a grand piano in the centre of the room, and Bucky suddenly realised what Steve was making him do.

"Steve did mention that I only have one arm, right?" Bucky asked. Dum Dum snorted, and pulled two stools out. He gestured for Bucky to sit, and he did (somewhat uncomfortably).

"You really think I can't teach you with just one hand, boy?" he asked, an eyebrow raised. His eyebrows were almost as bushy as his moustache. "I've been playing since your daddy was in diapers. Besides, you're not the only man I've ever taught with a missing limb." He nodded to Bucky's empty sleeve. "You're obviously too young to serve, though. Some kind of accident?"

"Car crash," Bucky found himself saying. "Nothin' left to save." Dum Dum just nodded.

"So you've never played before?"

"Ma tried to teach me when I was a kid, but it didn't really work out."

Dum Dum nodded. Bucky quickly changed the subject. "And how do you know Steve?"

"Knew his daddy back way when. Then Stevie came along, and I basically raised the bugger. Sarah and Joseph were always out. Then came the divorce, and Joseph always hated Africa, so Sarah took Steve there. I taught him how to play guitar. Kid's basically mine."

"So you're like an overly buff, moustached Mary Poppins?" Bucky asked sarcastically. Dum Dum snorted.

"Stevie did tell us you had a mouth on ya. I can see why he likes ya." Dum Dum rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't do this for just anyone, ya know. Stevie asked, and I can't say no to that boy."

Bucky felt a smile on his face. "Not many people can."

"That they can't," Dum Dum agreed, before he grinned again. "Tell him he owes me a visit. Now, let's start with some basic chords."

 

\---

 

Bucky made it back home just as the rain started, and he stared out the window at the droplets falling fast and rolling down the glass. He had his sketchbook open on his lap, and on the page in front of him was the half-drawn picture of Steve, smaller and scrawnier with a guitar in his arms, and Dum Dum sitting next to him with an identical instrument. Steve's guitar was bigger than he was. His eyes were furrowed with concentration, his tongue sticking out in the way Bucky knew he did. Bucky was so absorbed in his sketch that he got the shock of his life when his computer pinged, and Steve's unfairly attractive face popped up. The rain was so hard on the roof that Bucky had to turn the volume up to max just to hear him. 

Steve was stretched out on his stomach on a bed that was too small for him, with his head resting on his arms, which were folded in front of him. His hair looked fluffier than normal, and his eyes had bags under them. Still, he smiled brighter than the sun when Bucky ran a hand through his hair. _And trakhni menya, he wasn't wearing a shirt._

Bucky had forgotten how attractive Steve's body was. The slope of his back, the broadness of his shoulders, the soft honey colour of his skin...

Bucky absentmindedly wondered what it would be like to run his hand across Steve's shoulder blades, but quickly shook the thoughts from his head. He knew that his face was probably bright red.

"How was it?" Steve asked, and his expression was so hopeful that Bucky didn't even think about chewing him out for not telling him about the lessons. 

"Really good, actually. Dum Dum taught me some basic chords, and told me to make you visit."

Steve beamed, and Bucky felt his heart palpitate. "Buck, that's amazing! I'm so glad you liked it - and you can play so many songs with just a couple of chords. Hang on, I'll send you some links."

"You think I'll be capable of playing actual songs?" Bucky asked incredulously as Steve reached to his left to grab his phone. A few seconds later, Bucky's phone was buzzing. 

"Sweetheart, by the time I get back, you'll be rivalling Elton John."

Bucky felt his face heat up again, and silently cursed his pale skin. "You'd know, wouldn't you? Dum Dum said you're some kind of musical genius."

Steve's cheeks turned red. He looked almost uncomfortable. "Yeah, he would say that," he said, sounding too casual. "I think he just says that to talk up his own teaching skills."

Bucky frowned. He had about a million questions - first being why he'd never heard any of Steve's music, and why he always got that funny look on his face whenever Bucky mentioned it. But Steve looked uneasy and shifty, and Bucky was very unwilling to make him feel even more uncomfortable.

"Anyway, Dum Dum's place is awesome. Even though it smells awful and has too many people living there."

Steve looked relieved at the change of subject, and grinned. "Yeah, I love it too. It is pretty gross if you think about it, but if you don't then it's basically heaven." He paused. "I'll take you to see the band some time. They might look like POWs from World War II, but the Howling Commandoes have pretty great music. I think you'd like them."

Bucky refused to think about that proposition as a date. "Sounds good."

Steve leaned in close to the camera. Even through the crappy laptop quality, Bucky could see his eyes twinkling. "Hey Buck?"

Bucky found himself leaning towards the laptop more. "Yeah?"

"You ready for your next task?"

 

\------

 

Steve sent Bucky to the Smithsonian next, to the new Thomas Jefferson exhibit, to find evidence of a secret BDSM cult that Jefferson had led. Knowing what Thomas Jefferson was like from his copious history sessions, Bucky wouldn't have been surprised. 

Next was to find the best place in Brooklyn to find nachos that cost under ten dollars, and a promise that when Steve got back, Bucky would take him there. The waiter there had a moustache that was even more ridiculous than Dum Dum's. Bucky had told Steve, who immediately requested a photo. Feeling a bit like an idiot, Bucky explained his situation, and the waiter was more than happy to pose for a picture with him, as long as they both wore a sombrero. Steve liked the photo so much that he set it as his laptop background.

Steve was horrified when Bucky had admitted that he'd never watched a Disney movie, and gave him a list that was insanely long of movies to watch. He promised that when he got back he'd join Bucky on his Disney marathon, even going so far as to make a joke about cuddling on the couch that Bucky most certainly did not blush to.

On Friday, Steve made Bucky trek out to a small, vintage store on the corner of both their neighbourhoods, with the goal of finding the most ridiculous piece of clothing for under 20 dollars. It took him three hours to comb through the shop - which looked like a hoarder's dream - but Bucky eventually resurfaced with an electric purple fedora that had a peacock feather embedded on the top. When he'd skyped Steve while wearing the hat, Steve had laughed so hard there were tears running down his face. 

Bucky knew that Steve was just making things up off the top of his head. But he realised that it was the only reason he was getting out of bed in the morning, instead of lying there and stewing in his own self-hatred and grief. It was pathetic, but when Bucky had voiced this to Steve, he'd leaned forward and said, very seriously:

"That's not pathetic. You're not weak, Buck - you've just been strong for too long."

Bucky had felt a lump in his throat.

Everything was messed up and confusing, and Bucky was so tired he was barely able to function, and his subconscious was constantly thinking of Steve, and Becca was never in the house and Ma had started smoking again and Bucky hadn't drawn anything in forever, and whenever he tried, big blue eyes and a smile that could light up the world covered his page. He ended up ripping half the pages in his sketchbook out.

It rained for the entire second week of the holidays. Steve and Peggy went on a camping trip for a few days, and there was no contact between them for far too long. Bucky hung out at the Russian diner with Nat, who'd come back to the states, and tried to work on his art school portfolio over cups of terrible coffee and homemade bread. Natasha occasionally talked to him, but most of the time she just stared at him from the corner of her eye, her mouth pursed in worry. 

There were three more lessons with Dum Dum, and Bucky might have accidentally been adopted by him during that time. He spent a whole afternoon at the Black Dahlia with the Howling Commandoes, listening to music, playing pool, and watching as Gabe and Dernier tried to teach a very drunk Falsworth how to speak French.

Bucky went to his dad's funeral. There weren't many people there - just him, his ma and Becca, his grandmother, his uncle and a few of his dad's army buddies. Bucky was clapped on the shoulder by a few of them, and one told him that his dad would have been proud of the man he'd become. Bucky didn't leave his room for three days after that. 

Every day, Bucky talked to Steve. It could be about anything or nothing - the weather, Peggy, the places Steve had lived when he was growing up, and how Bucky thought he was terrible at the piano but still loved every minute of it. Neither of them mentioned their parents. 

It was the Thursday of the second week of holidays, at nine at night. Bucky was sitting in his lounge room watching _Footloose_ again, because he may or may not really love the movie. Becca was out with friends again, and probably wasn't going to come back for a few days. His ma was also out, with Bucky's Aunt Edith, and she wasn't due back until late. Bucky was half asleep as Ren McCormack and his terrible motor skills danced across the TV screen when a set of headlights outside the window stopped, and lingered. 

Bucky looked over, frowning. It couldn't be Becca or his ma; they would've texted. Sam was still in DC, Natasha was working a shift, and Clint had to babysit his cousins. A few seconds later, he heard the slamming of a car trunk, and a knock on the door not long after. Bucky warily made his way over to the door and opened it slowly, only to have the breath knocked out of him. 

Steve was standing on his doorstep, a duffel slung over one shoulder and a backpack over the other. He'd already started talking, in that way that he always did, as he walked past Bucky without even bothering to wait for an invitation to come in. He dropped his bags to the floor and turned around. And he smiled.

Bucky didn't know who moved first - it was almost as if he was in a movie and the person watching had skipped a few seconds of scene - but the next thing he knew, he was wrapped up in Steve's arms and pressed against Steve's warm body, breathing in the scent of smoke on his skin and burying his nose in the curve of Steve's neck. The leather jacket Steve was wearing was wet, and his hair was plastered to his face and he was probably freezing cold, but he was holding Bucky like it was the end of the world and they were the last people in the city and _oh god I've missed you so much-_

"You were gone for too long," Bucky finally got out. His voice was embarrassingly shaky. Steve pulled away to look down at him. His face went through a bunch of different emotions at once. He'd brought his hand up to cup Bucky's face, and Steve was leaning in, and _Steve was leaning in-_

Their foreheads bumped together, and Bucky's eyes slid shut as Steve's hand carted through his hair. A small shudder ran through his body when Steve pressed a kiss to the top of his head. 

"I know."

Steve didn't let go of him, and Bucky clung onto his shirt as they moved backwards. Somehow, like that person watching Bucky's movie had skipped forward again, they were on the couch, and Bucky didn't even care that he was almost in Steve's lap because _Steve was here, Steve was back_ and nothing else seemed to matter. 

"Tell me."

So Bucky told him everything. 

He talked about his dad, about the alcoholism, about how he was found in a puddle of his own puke, still gurgling with his eyes wide open and glassy. He talked about Becca and her anger, of his ma and her cigarettes, and the empty bottle of vodka he'd found the night before on the countertop. He kept talking and talking, feeling like a giant balloon that was slowly deflating. He didn't move his head from its spot tucked into Steve's neck. He talked and talked until there was no more air left, until he felt empty and tired and his cheeks were wet and his mouth was dry and his eyes hurt.

Steve had held onto him the entire time, a large hand slowly brushing through Bucky's hair, and another hand rubbing circles on Bucky's hip, just where his T-shirt rode up and the tiniest bit of skin was shown. He didn't talk; he didn't need to. When Bucky had finished speaking, he hadn't said anything, either. Just held him tighter.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you," is what Steve finally said. Bucky moved his head from its spot in the curve of Steve's neck, and looked up at him. Maybe it had something to do with the moisture still in his eyes, but Bucky saw colours in Steve's eyes that weren't there before - tiny sparks of green and gold mixed in with the blue. They were even more beautiful than he remembered. 

"You did all you could," Bucky murmured. Steve brushed a thumb across Bucky's cheek, and Bucky leaned into the touch, closing his eyes. Steve's other hand found Bucky's, and their fingers intertwined and their hands rested on Bucky's thigh. 

"I'm glad I'm back," Steve admitted. Bucky opened his eyes. Steve was concentrating on their hands. "Peggy's great, but she can be a handful. I'm not sure I could have coped with more time with those assholes Dad calls friends. I'm almost excited to get back to school. It'll be a relief to return to... order."

"Status quo is good," Bucky mumbled. Steve looked up at him and brushed a stray lock of hair out of Bucky's eyes. He smiled, but there was something almost hesitant flicking across his face.

"Yeah. It is," he said softly. Bucky got lost in his eyes again - seriously, how could he have never seen that green and gold? It almost sang to him, making patterns in Steve's irises and swirling through Bucky's brain - green and gold over a beautiful blue backdrop, like the ocean over a reef, or sunshine on a tree's leaves on a cloudless day. It reminded Bucky of home. 

"So... How far have you gotten with your Disney homework?" Steve finally asked. Bucky bit back a smile, and looked down sheepishly.

"I haven't started," he admitted, and laughed when Steve gasped.

"Unacceptable! Get off your ass - we're going to your room to binge them." Then Steve made a face. "I should probably shower, first. Look at the list - start downloading. I'll be out in a bit."

Bucky moved off Steve's lap and helped him up, and Steve only let go of his hand when he went into the bathroom next to Bucky's room. 

Steve came out just when the first movie - Snow White - had downloaded, and was wearing a pair of light sweatpants and nothing else. Steve didn't seem to mind, though, and sat up against the wall on Bucky's bed next to him, the laptop balanced on Bucky's knees. About halfway through the movie, Steve pulled Bucky into his lap again, saying that he couldn't see the screen properly. Bucky leaned up against Steve's chest, which, despite being very hard, was also quite comfortable. Every now and then, Steve would poke Bucky in the side as a reaction for something happening on the screen, and Bucky would elbow him in the stomach as a reply. They moved on to Cinderella, and as the fairy godmother appeared and gave Cinderella her dress - _this girl is completely materialistic_ \- Bucky felt himself drifting off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> moya lyubov' - my love  
> trakhni menya - fuck me


	9. A Redhead, A Black Man, A Deaf And A Gay Amputee Walk Into A Bar...

In parts of the world, significant events were happening - whether they were good or bad. A baby in a third world country might have miraculously recovered from a serious illness, an earthquake might have levelled a small town, a new law might have been passed that would change people's lives for better or worse. But at Brooklyn Secondary, none of those things mattered at all. Because the new semester was all about the Formal.

Bucky was not happy about that. For one, that meant even more glitter and stupid old movie posters with his peers' faces plastered on to bring shame to Old Hollywood. And apparently, nobody had mentioned to him that it was going to be fancy dress. Which meant that Bucky had to dress up as someone from Old Hollywood or WWII. That was not a fun concept for him.

Clint had dragged them all out costume shopping, and Bucky didn't know whether to be grateful for that or to punch him in the face. Clint and Natasha obviously chose to be Hawkeye and Black Widow, from those comics that they loved so much. Sam was Paul Robeson, who had apparently been a really successful and influential black actor in Old Hollywood. Bucky had decided to be lazy and just dress up as a Sergeant from the war, and, according to Natasha, it looked pretty good (the words she used were "sexy power bottom", but Bucky chose to ignore that).

Brock Rumlow hooked up with some girl from a private school, and it was the biggest piece of gossip for about a week - a very annoying week where Bucky tried very hard not to punch anyone. He had absolutely no interest in Rumlow or his love life, and frankly, wouldn't give two shits if he made out with Jennifer Lawrence. Sharon Carter seemed to follow Steve around like a lost puppy, constantly hanging off his arm and giggling, which made Bucky kind of wish he had a taser and a copy of the sexual harassment guidelines. It was almost impossible to have a conversation alone with Steve without Sharon somehow finding them and completely blindsiding Bucky, which was incredibly rude, and that was the only reason Bucky was annoyed with it.

Natasha got another haircut. Bucky thought that she might have been saving it for a new semester grand entrance. When she leaned against Bucky's locker, it took him a few seconds to figure out who she was.

"Well?"

She'd cut most of the hair off. It curled around her chin and the top of her neck and was styled to perfection. She'd dyed it an even brighter shade of red than it originally was. She looked even more scary than she usually did.

"Looks like you're the lead in a superhero franchise," Bucky replied, and Natasha gave him a feral grin. Yeah, she was terrifying. Bucky felt almost sorry for Clint.

Becca started college, even though she was only sixteen. She was still the smartest kid in her classes and moved out to live in a dorm with a friend of hers, closer to campus. The day after she left, Bucky found another empty bottle of vodka on the counter. He threw it in the trash with disgust and fear curling through his veins, satisfied when he heard the bottle break on impact.

Steve went to a second-rate pawn shop with Bucky to try and find a cheap keyboard. They end up buying a relatively good-looking one whose keys all worked, and only occasionally blasted crappy 80's music in the middle of the night. Sam found it hilarious.

Sam and Bucky ended up hanging out less and less. Bucky didn't know how that happened. Sam went to a normal gym every day to run and lift weights and kick punching bags, but he had not set foot back inside the dojo, or any other dojo. Bucky was on the verge of bringing up the T'Challa thing several times, but the prospect of navigating that conversation made him back out every time. He kept thinking that it would fix itself - it was Sam, he would fix it because he's Sam - but Bucky just didn't know how to undo the weirdness that had made its way into their friendship.

As the cold gave way to longer days and blue skies, Steve's dad started travelling more often. When he was home, he prowled around their house like the walls were closing in on him, and Bucky frequently helped Steve pick up the beer bottles that scattered across the floor. Occasionally he spoke, but never to Bucky. Joseph Rogers seemed to think that Bucky was no better than a piece of dog shit that had wedged itself onto his shoe. Bucky hated him right back.

Steve took up a job at the local animal shelter, and whenever Bucky visited him at work he had to try and not drop dead on the spot because Steve cuddling animals with water and dog hair all over him was heart attack-inducing. Steve told Bucky that it was mostly so he had somewhere to hide out other than Bucky's place, but Bucky suspected he was trying to get his dad to stay, and not run off somewhere again. Steve was worried about Joseph taking him away again. It was not something Bucky was willing to contemplate.

Bucky had read somewhere that significant events tended to happen on Thursdays. He didn't know the logic behind that, but was convinced that it was some astrology bullshit, made up by a 45-year-old vegan with three divorces under her belt and straight grey hair. All Bucky knew was that one sunny Thursday, his life as he knew it was completely nuked.

Bucky was in the computer lab at morning break, sketching Tony and the ridiculous expression he had whenever he got really into work. Bucky thought that Tony was fixing a bug or something. He didn't really care. Steve was sitting on the desk next to Bucky, his legs swinging as he told a story about the Howling Commandoes and the gang of strippers Morita had hired for Falsworth's bachelor party. He was wearing the present Bucky gave him for his birthday - a silver chain with a little guitar pendant and a music note charm that clattered against each other whenever Steve moved. 

"Buck, come on! It's perfect outside and I need some sun," he was whining. It was decidedly not adorable, and Steve definitely didn't look like a sad Golden Retriever. And Bucky was not going to fall for those pleading eyes.

"God forbid the Golden Boy goes without sun for too long," Bucky replied dryly. "You might just run out of happiness."

"I'd like to see that day," Tony called out from behind the computer. Steve threw a pen at him. 

"You don't have to wait up for me, you know," Bucky said, and Steve sighed.

"Well, I have a Formal meeting at lunchtime. Dad and I are in Massachusetts from Friday afternoon till Sunday. When else are we going to hang out?"

Bucky leaned back in his chair with a sigh, and tucked the pencil behind his ear. It did suck that Steve was away for the weekend. They were up to Mulan in their Disney marathon, and according to the Internet and Clint's Tumblr page, it was one of the best ones. 

Steve slid off the desk and kneeled between Bucky's legs, his elbows on Bucky's knees and his face in his hands. He was still doing those puppy eyes. Bucky raised an eyebrow at him and leaned closer. "Are you doing this on purpose?"

"Doing what?" Steve asked innocently. Bucky almost would've believed him if it wasn't obvious he was trying not to laugh. 

"If you two start having sex over there, I'm out," Tony called. Steve threw another pen at him, and it hit Tony on the forehead. Bucky snickered at the indignant squawk.

At that moment, Steve's phone beeped. He pulled it out of his pocket and frowned at the screen. 

"Everything okay?" Bucky asked. Steve looked up at him. Something strange was going on with his expression that Bucky couldn't place.

"Yeah, yeah, everything's fine," Steve said. There was something off with his voice, too. "I just need to, uh, make a phone call. I'll, uh, I'll be right back."

He (very gracefully) pushed himself off the ground and walked out of the room quickly before Bucky had a chance to say anything.

"That was weird. He okay?" Tony asked. He'd actually looked up from his computer, which was a miracle in itself.

"I don't know," Bucky said honestly. Tony frowned, and went back to his computer. 

Bucky waited in the lab until the bell rang, but Steve didn't reappear. They had English together next, but Bucky went past Steve's locker on the way anyway. He ducked into the classroom, but Steve's seat was empty. Sam hadn't seen him. Natasha hadn't seen him. Quill, who was a few minutes away from sleeping on top of his textbooks, hadn't seen him. 

Steve came into the classroom twelve minutes late and dropped into the closest seat to the door. His eyes were wide and his face was pale, and Bucky knew immediately that something was wrong. Bucky tried to get his attention throughout the class, but Steve didn't look at him once. The teacher - another substitute - was droning on about Emily Dickinson or something like that, but all Bucky could hear was buzzing.

By lunchtime, Steve looked really sick. He ducked out of the classroom as soon as the bell rang, but Bucky ran into him again near his locker. 

"Steve?"

Steve jumped, and looked down at Bucky. His eyes were slightly unfocused. "Oh. Hey, Buck."

"Is everything alright?"

Steve pulled at his necklace. "Yeah. Yeah, everything's fine." His eyes were looking over Bucky's shoulder. The hand holding the necklace was trembling.

Bucky raised his hand and covered Steve's trembling one. Steve looked back at him, and his eyes were wide and scared. 

"C'mon, Stevie," Bucky said softly. There was a pause, and then Steve had grabbed the sleeved of Bucky's jacket and was pulling him into an empty classroom. He really did look awful. Bucky's palms started to sweat as he ran through all the possible scenarios in his mind that could have turned the confident, happy Steve Rogers into the pale, wobbly thing in front of him. Maybe a family tragedy, or he was moving again-

Oh god, what if he was moving?

Steve took a deep breath. "Bucky, I think I did something stupid. Well, not stupid, just hasty, a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing, you know? And now I'm kinda in a bit of a mess, and I'm not sure what to do, and-"

"Hey, it's okay, Stevie," Bucky said. For some reason, his voice was quivering, too. Steve sat down heavily in a chair, and Bucky sat on the desk in front of him. Steve was holding Bucky's wrist so hard it was almost painful, but that didn't matter. Bucky tried to think about what it was like without Steve there, but all that came up in his mind was Rumlow slamming him into the lockers and his father's drunken rages. That was not helping in the slightest.

Steve swallowed. "I'm supposed to do this thing. I signed up for it ages ago, on a stupid high streak, and I was definitely just a little bit drunk, and now they've called me and they want me to come in tonight, but I can't do it, Bucky, I can't-"

"Stevie," Bucky said gently, and Steve shut his mouth immediately. Bucky raised his hand to cup Steve's cheek. "Slow down."

Steve turned red, and he looked down at his hands. "I sort of... Write. Songs. Music. I'm not that good. I don't even want to perform, at all. Dad thinks I'm just messing around, and so he lets me do it even if he doesn't really approve, but whenever he's gone... I work really hard at it. And I had this burst of... recklessness, I guess, and I sent a demo disc out to this bar that does open-mic things. And they just called me. They had someone drop out tonight, and... and they asked me to fill in. Tonight."

It took Bucky a couple of seconds to process that. "You sing?"

"No! Well, yes, but I'm not good at it," Steve repeated, running a hand through his hair. "And I've never sung in front of people before, not even just one person! And it's a bar - I mean, people are going to pay real money to listen to me singing my own songs, not someone else's songs but _my own songs,_ and I'm supposed to be there on stage and do it-"

Steve had gotten up from his seat and was pacing the classroom. His voice was rising hysterically and he was waving his arms around, and he looked as if he was going to pass out. Bucky knew it was only a matter of time before he started hyperventilating, so he got up and spun Steve around to face him, grabbing Steve's shoulder to ground him.

"Steve. Calm down," Bucky said firmly. Steve's eyes were wide, and his chest was heaving, and suddenly he had wrapped his long arms around Bucky's waist and pulled him close. Bucky could feel him trembling, and started running a hand through his short hair in comfort. Steve shuddered under Bucky's fingers, and buried his face in Bucky's neck.

"I recorded the stuff on my laptop in my bedroom," Steve mumbled into Bucky's neck. "The music industry is brutal, I know that, and if my dad finds out, he'll go mental. He doesn't want a son that's into music, and I thought that I could do this and now I can't back out and I don't want Dad to find out, because if he did-"

" _uspokoysya lyubov'_ ," Bucky interrupted. "Stevie, _ty idiot_ , you gotta calm down." He pulled away to look at Steve. Steve wouldn't meet his eyes, so Bucky held his chin in his hand and gently guided Steve's eyes to his face. "Listen. Obviously, you've thought about this for a while, right? It's not like you've only written one song in one night, and done nothing else, right?"

"No, I've been writing for ages," Steve admitted. "But I've never shown them to anyone. And I've never sung in front of people before, not even Peggy. It makes me wanna vomit and pass out... I can speak in front of people, easy, but I can't sing, I just can't, Buck."

A group of younger kids passed the classroom. They peered curiously into the windows, but scattered quickly when Bucky glared at them. Bucky turned back to Steve, who hadn't seemed to notice, but was back in his own head again. 

"Okay. You have stage fright," Bucky said gently. "That's okay. Everyone has to be scared of something. For example, I'm terrified of birds."

Steve let out a short, hysterical laugh. Bucky took that as encouragement. 

"But you like songwriting, right? It's something you wanna do?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Yes. I mean, I'd like to write songs for other people. I always have music and words floating around in my mind, but I don't have dreams of winning a Grammy or anything. And my dad-"

"Doesn't need to know anything." Bucky brushed some of Steve's hair off his forehead. The skin felt clammy. "Steve, forget about your dad. You're not doing this for him. In fact, he can go to hell as far as I'm concerned. But if you really don't want to, you don't have to. It's your call. But... you sent the disc in, didn't you?"

"I thought I could handle it," Steve said in a small voice. 

"And you can," Bucky replied. Steve looked at him again. His eyes were shinier than normal. 

"You think so?"

Bucky laughed softly. "Stevie, if you put your mind to it, you could win wars. You could probably solve everything wrong with the world. And if you've been able to put up with my depressed ass for six months then you can bet that you can get up on a stage and sing to a couple of drunk guys."

Steve's cheeks turned pink. "You sound so confident. You've never even heard me sing."

"It doesn't matter, _moy dorogoy_ ," Bucky said softly. "It's you."

Steve exhaled slowly. His face was slowly going back to a healthy colour. He caught Bucky's eye and nodded. "Buck, if I'm really gonna do this... I mean, I know that you have plans at home, but-"

"I'll come," Bucky said immediately. He didn't really think about it. "Of course I'll be there."

"You and the guys?" Steve asked, his face pleading. "I just... I need a few friendly faces."

A few things swam through Bucky's head - one of them being how the hell they were going to get into a bar, for one. But Steve was looking at him with those sad Golden Retriever eyes, and all of a sudden the only picture Bucky had in his head was Steve holding him that day he got back from London, and all logic pretty much just flew out the window.

"Just us. I promise."

Steve smiled - not his usual confident grin, but it still made Bucky's knees feel a little weak - and tucked a stray hair behind Bucky's ear. 

"Thanks, Buck."

He started walking towards the door. Bucky suddenly blurted out, "Hey Steve?"

Steve stopped, and turned to look at him. "Yeah?"

"You're going to be great."

Steve smiled again, and this time it lit up his whole face. "Alright, Jamie."

 

\-----

 

The taxi dropped them off on a dimly lit street corner at the edge of Brooklyn. Bucky and Sam's amazing cover story was that Bucky was studying at Sam's, and Sam was studying at Bucky's. Natasha had no curfew, and Clint had bribed his sister into silence when he'd climbed out the window to go meet them. 

Bucky had no idea where they were, only that it looked like the opening scene of a zombie movie. 

Clint frowned at the map on his iPhone. "This is supposed to be it."

The laneway in front of them ended pretty quickly. There was a guy sitting on a milk crate at the far end, and it took Bucky's eyes a little while to see the door he was next to. 

They walked towards milk-crate guy. Natasha in front. If anyone was to pass as twenty-one, it was her. The dude had long hair and a long beard, and it was hard to see where the hair ended and the beard started. It was kinda disconcerting. He looked at them, then at Natasha.

"ID?"

"We're meeting a friend," Natasha said smoothly. She was wearing a tight black dress, and her hair was stylishly swept across her face. She smiled charmingly. "Steve Rogers?"

The guy stood up. "Cool, no prob. Steve Rogers, yeah. He's going on in about ten minutes, you'd better get in there quick."

Natasha flashed another smile and sashayed past him. Clint made sure to shove into the guy when he caught him staring at Natasha's ass. There was a long corridor, and a door at the end, and Bucky couldn't help but flinch slightly as the door was closed behind them.

"Looks dodgy," Sam said mildly.

"It's a bar. It's supposed to look dodgy," Natasha replied, then grinned. "Don't worry. I've been in places like these loads of times."

"Of course you have, daughter of the mafia," Bucky grumbled, and Natasha snorted.

At the end of the corridor, there was a cloak-room window that Bucky hadn't noticed before. A bored-looking chick with a lip piercing and hair like 2007 Gerard Way stared out at them.

"Five bucks," she said. She sounded as bored as she looked. 

Bucky handed over the money for all of them. She raised an eyebrow at his empty left sleeve, and he raised one back. 

"We're supposed to stamp your left hand, but..." she trailed off. Bucky rolled his eyes and held out his right, and the girl stamped it with a huff. The print was some kind of black horseshoe. When she'd stamped all their hands, they were allowed to go through the door and into the bar.

It was probably twice the size of a classroom. A bar took up the entire left side, and a woman with muscular arms and a white tank top cleaned glasses behind it. The tables were small, and there were only about three seats around each. The stage was lit by red fairy lights, and large speakers were on either side of it. Bucky spotted some red, cracked-vinyl booths lining the back wall, and walked over, his friends trailing behind. 

The place was about half full. The crowd mostly consisted of college kids with weird hair and vintage shirts. Bucky was wearing his most inconspicuous clothes - black skinny jeans and a leather jacket over a Henley - but he still felt like he was sticking out like a sore thumb.

A group of about ten dark-skinned women was on the stage. According to the small sign next to the stage, they were called the Dora Milaje. They all had shaved heads and were wearing red. It was pretty cool. The one strumming on the bass guitar caught Bucky's eye and winked. 

"That's Okoye," Bucky said in surprise. Sam stiffened beside him. 

Bucky mouthed at her, _Is T'Challa here?_

 _In the back,_ she mouthed back.

"I'm gonna go into the back," Bucky said, standing up. "Sam, wanna come?"

"Sure."

Natasha stood up as well. "I'm gonna get drinks. Vodka, Buck?"

"Vodka," Bucky replied. Clint rolled his eyes.

"Russians," he muttered. 

"Just for that, I'm getting the worst beer here," Natasha said, and kissed Clint's cheek before walking over to the bar. She turned a lot of heads, Bucky had to admit that.

There was a gap to the side of the stage with a metal sign pointing to the toilets. There was nowhere else to go, so Bucky pulled Sam along behind him. Next to the toilets, there was another door, the small plaque on it telling Bucky it was the dressing rooms. The first door had _Dora Milaje_ printed on a sign that was hanging from the handle. Just before they passed the door, it opened very suddenly and T'Challa stepped out. He froze when he saw them, and Bucky felt Sam tense up beside him. 

"Sam," T'Challa breathed. _Jesus Christ, it's like I'm invisible._

"Hey, KitKat," Sam said quietly. They stared at each other for a few seconds, before Sam turned to leave.

"Oh no you don't," Bucky said, grabbing him by the elbow when he was almost out of reach. Sam glared at him.

"Did you know he was going to be back here?"

"Yes," Bucky shot back. "I can't seem to do anything about your situation, but I can sure as hell make you face the person who can." He shoved Sam into the room, and glared at T'Challa. "Stay there and talk about your feelings, _radi vsego svyatogo!_." He closed the door in their faces.

Bucky turned away from the door when he was sure that Sam wasn't going to burst out and run away, and walked further down the corridor to the door with _Steve Rogers_ printed on the sign hanging from the doorknob. He knocked, and the door was flung open almost immediately and Bucky was pulled inside.

"Oh thank god you're here, I can't do this, I'm gonna throw up."

Steve was talking very quickly, but Bucky couldn't really notice that. Steve's hair was styled and spiky, and the dim lights in the dressing room cast shadows across his face, accentuating all his best features. He was wearing a white T-shirt and black jeans, and both were very tight. The black tattoo stood out beautifully against the white shirt.

" _Vyglyadish' potryasayushche_ ," Bucky murmured. His tone was definitely a bit wondrous. Steve ran a hand through his hair. His face was chalk white as he grabbed Bucky's waist tightly. It only hurt a little.

"Buck, I don't think I can do this," Steve whispered. He looked terrified. His face was also very close to Buckys.

Bucky shook himself out of his minor freak out. "Okay... you need to relax. Calm down."

Steve took a deep breath, then another. He did not let them out. He started to pace the small room, waving his arms around. "I don't know why I did this, I can't do this, oh _god_ -"

Bucky stepped forwards when Steve got close to him, and placed his hand over the base of Steve's neck on his tattoo, just on his collarbone and just above his heart. Steve stopped walking. His chest was heaving. 

"Stevie, look at me," Bucky said firmly. Steve looked down at him. His eyes were wide and scared. 

Bucky thought about his top five all-time greatest movie inspirational speeches, but the only one that came to mind was the _they will never take our freedom_ one from Braveheart. Bucky wasn't sure if a pre-battle speech was relevant in his situation. 

"Listen, Steve," he started, and looked down. "I... I'm not good with words. I never have been. So if you're expecting some amazing speech like the ones in the movies, you're gonna be disappointed. But... I know that you always know the right thing to say, and the right thing to do. I can't imagine it'll be any different when you sing."

Bucky took a deep breath and looked up at Steve. "You're the bravest person I know. And I know that you can do this, because it's you. Just... I don't know. Pretend it's just me out there."

Steve had a weird look in his eyes. It was very tender, and it was making Bucky feel like cotton candy. Steve slowly reached up and grasped Bucky's hand, and pressed a small kiss on the back of it. His eyes never left Buckys. 

Bucky felt like he was going to faint. Steve's hands were soft, but the fingertips were rough and tough. Bucky suddenly realised how much bigger Steve's hands were than his own. Steve smelled like apples and peppermint.

There was a smattering of applause from the stage that could clearly be heard through the door. Bucky blinked, and stepped away. Their faces had been much closer than they were just a few seconds before. Steve shook his head slightly, then looked at Bucky with a trembly smile.

"Wish me luck?"

Bucky looked away with a smile. "You won't need it."

"But I want it anyway." Steve's expression was earnest. Before he knew what he was doing, Bucky had closed the distance between the two of them and kissed Steve's cheek.

"Good luck," he whispered. He could hear Steve's heartbeat. Bucky moved away and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Clint glanced up at him when he slid back into the booth. "He okay?"

Bucky didn't answer him. Natasha pushed a shot of vodka towards him, and he downed it in one. Sam still wasn't back from the dressing rooms. 

The woman from behind the bar walked up to the stage, and grabbed the mic. Her hair was blonde, and styled into a pixie cut. She looked like every badass woman from every movie ever.

"And that was the Dora Milaje," she said, and there was another round of applause. The women on the stage filed off, and Okoye sent Bucky a wink. "Our next musical guest is Steve Rogers."

Clint was a little too enthusiastic beside him, and Bucky couldn't help but laugh. Natasha slid him a beer, and he took a grateful sip.

Steve walked out on stage. There was a bar stool that Bucky hadn't noticed before that Steve sat on. It was right in the centre of the stage, in front of the microphone. He had a guitar in his hands. 

Bucky could see Steve's teeth working at his lip as he put the guitar in his lap and adjusted the microphone. He paused for a moment, his eyes focused on the strings. Then he took a deep breath, and strummed.

Steve's voice was rich and deep, but still soft. It wasn't pitch perfect, but that didn't matter at all. It was almost exactly what Bucky imagined Steve would sound like. His eyes were closed, but his voice didn't tremble. His feet tapped to the beat. His hands didn't miss a note.

Natasha nudged Bucky with her foot. She was smiling at him - not her usual smirk, but a genuine smile. Bucky turned back to the stage, and was immediately transfixed all over again. The way Steve's fingers moved across the strings was like a dance, more graceful and beautiful than Bucky could ever have imagined. The corners of Steve's mouth were starting to curl up into a smile.

The song told of a lost love, a hole torn through reality and space and time. The anguish in Steve's voice was palpable. Bucky realised the song was about his mom.

The strumming gained intensity. Steve's voice grew louder, and soared over the bar and the rooftops and the entire city. The crowd was silent. 

The song finished with one more swipe of Steve's fingers, and the bar erupted. Bucky's hand tightened around the beer bottle as he smiled, and Clint was whooping beside him. Steve looked out at the crowd, shading his eyes from the stage lights. Bucky knew Steve couldn't see him, what with the brightness of the lights, but it felt like they caught each other's eye for a second. Then Steve turned back to the guitar. He still looked shaky, but his eyes were open. 

The first three songs were about Steve's life; Bucky could tell. After his mom, Steve sang about the war in Afghanistan, and he painted such a vivid picture that Bucky saw a few people wiping at their eyes. The third song was light and happy, and Bucky knew that it was about Peggy. The applause was loudest at the end of the third song. Steve smiled out at the crowd.

"Thanks, everyone," he said, almost shyly. "Uh, this is gonna be my last song. I just wanted to say thanks to my friends for coming here tonight. Especially my friend Bucky. I would've probably passed out on my way to the stage if it wasn't for you." He smiled again, and Bucky was sure that it was meant just for him. Natasha grinned at him, and Bucky felt his face heat up as he lifted the beer bottle back to his lips. 

Steve looked back down at his guitar, and took a deep breath. He looked nervous.

The song started off with a cute little riff that both made Bucky feel happy and sad at the same time. Steve really was an amazing guitarist. The lyrics weren't exactly obvious, not like the other three songs, but it was full of sadness and longing and ecstasy and about a million other emotions. By the time Steve lifts his shaking fingers off the guitar's strings, the crowd was so loud Bucky couldn't hear his own thoughts. Bucky shakily lifted his hand to find that his cheeks were wet. He wiped them dry quickly. Clint tried to climb onto the table, but Natasha grabbed him and pulled him back into his seat. Steve stood and bowed, then disappeared from the stage.

Natasha took a sip of her beer. "That was pretty good."

"Pretty good?" Clint echoed, looking incredulous. "Are you kidding? He was amazing! Don't you think so, Bucky? I mean, it's not the kind of music I'd normally listen to, but it was just so cool, and his guitar skills are like, jealousy-inducing."

"He was incredible," Bucky murmured. Clint grinned.

It was at that moment that Steve appeared at their table. He looked exhausted. Bucky felt his chest seize up, and had to look away. Natasha climbed out of the booth and wrapped her arms around Steve, a hand carting through his hair. "You were great," she said quietly. 

Steve basically collapsed against her. "God, I thought I was gonna die up there." His voice was muffled. "My knees are still shaking."

Clint got out of the booth too, and wrapped Steve and Natasha up in a huge bear hug. "Holy shit, dude! You were like, so amazing, I can't even begin to describe it."

Steve laughed as he hugged them both back. "Thanks, guys. Jesus, I need a drink."

He collapsed into the booth beside Bucky as Natasha went to grab more vodka. Steve's arm was pressed up against Bucky's. When Steve looked at him, his eyes were uncertain and self-conscious and completely unlike him.

"What did you think?" he asked quietly. 

Bucky didn't really know what to say. Somehow, _you were incredible_ didn't seem like enough. He tried to think of other synonyms, of descriptive words, but maybe Steve would want an objective answer. A songwriter's answer. Bucky didn't know how to give that, because he wasn't a songwriter. He was an artist, sure, but not the same kind as Steve. 

"You were incredible," Bucky murmured. Steve smiled.

"Thanks, Buck. You have no idea." He ran a hand through his hair with a shaky laugh. "I thought I was gonna cry up there, but I feel great now. I'm really glad you didn't let me leave." He looked around. "Where's Sam?"

"We ran into T'Challa on our way to your dressing room," Bucky replied. "He was here to watch Okoye and the Dora Milaje. I haven't seen him since."

"So they talked?"

"As far as I know."

Steve nodded, a satisfied look on his face. "That's good."

Bucky couldn't take his eyes off Steve's face. "Yeah. It's good."

Steve glanced at him, a small smile playing on his lips. "Why are you so quiet?"

"It's just... I've never heard you sing before. And... And you were absolutely incredible. Like, I don't really know what to say. I can't believe you never told me about it before. It's like there's this whole thing about you that I didn't know about."

Steve looked slightly guilty. "I didn't mean to hide it. It's just... it's so personal, y'know? And I have no, well, objective measures for anything I write. I mean, how many sad emos out there call themselves songwriters, when all they have as a qualification is bad hair and the ability to rhyme. I listen to myself sometimes and occasionally think that bits of my stuff is okay, but-"

"Steve," Bucky interrupted. Steve looked over at him. He had a vulnerable look in his eyes. "You're too hard on yourself. You are amazing - screw what anyone else says. Although, I doubt anyone would diss your music. Did you hear the crowd?"

Steve laughed softly. "I know. It's just... Everyone is hard on themselves. What about you and your drawing?"

"Good point," Bucky admitted. "It's a bit like stripping naked and asking people to comment."

"It's much more personal," Steve agreed. "A different kind of judgement."

"Yeah," Bucky said softly. Steve's eyes were like ink and water in the dim lights of the bar. 

The woman behind the bar had moved the tables off to the side of the room. The music became louder and with a harder beat, like a club. A few people got up and started dancing. Bucky noticed Sam walk out of the dressing rooms. T'Challa wasn't with him. 

Sam got closer, and Bucky noticed the red circles under his eyes. There was also a purple mark on the base of his neck. Bucky bit his lip, worry flaring up for his friend. Sam did not look okay. But before he could ask what was wrong, Natasha had come back to the table with several shots of vodka. She was grinning. 

"I'm gonna dance," she announced, putting the glasses down on the table. Clint got up and let her drag him onto the dance floor, and Bucky had to admit that they looked cute together. Sam took Clint's seat and downed two shots in a row.

"I'm gonna go, too," Steve said, then turned to Bucky with a twinkle in his eyes. "You wanna dance?"

"I don't dance," Bucky said, at the same time that Sam said, "Bucky doesn't dance."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Fine. Sam, you wanna come?"

"I'll just stay here," Sam said miserably, and tipped back another shot. 

Steve looked back over at Bucky, a smile on his face. "You sure? It'll be fun."

Bucky weighed the possibilities in his head. He had one arm. He had two left feet. He had never danced before in his life. But Steve was looking at him like that...

"Alright," he conceded. Sam's eyebrows raised, but Steve beamed. Bucky allowed Steve to grab his hand and pull him onto the dance floor. "I have to warn you, I have no idea what I'm doing."

"I'll teach you," Steve replied, just as the song changed to something slower. Bucky wondered if he was in some kind of low-budget movie. The slow song change was a classic romance cliché. He wondered who the main characters of the movie were.

Steve's arms around his waist made Bucky's mind stop working. Bucky licked his lips as he looked up at Steve, who was smiling. His arm slowly moved upwards to rest on Steve's shoulder, and they started moving.

Bucky didn't know what he was doing, but Steve seemed to know exactly what was happening. He twirled them slowly around the dancefloor, and Bucky felt himself actually having fun. He laughed softly, and Steve grinned back at him. Bucky's hand had migrated from Steve's shoulder to the curve of his neck, and he'd buried his fingers in the short bristles at the base of Steve's skull. Steve smiled at him again, but this time it was more tender, softer. Bucky felt himself get lost in Steve's eyes again - how one person could be so perfect, Bucky had no idea. As they danced, Steve rested their foreheads together. 

After another song, Bucky sat back down. Steve stayed, and found a partner in a beautiful blonde girl wearing a yellow dress. Steve danced the way he did everything else. His arms and legs didn't seem to be moving in a specific pattern, but it looked like he knew exactly what he was doing. He wasn't watching other people, or noticing other people watching him. He wasn't moving like anyone else. He was just dancing. The blonde girl punched his arm, laughing, and he laughed along with her. He looked like he was actually having fun. He looked... amazing.

 

At some point, Bucky glanced at the clock on his phone. 

Sam was still sitting and drinking away his sorrows. 

Clint and Natasha had disappeared somewhere, presumably to make out.

Bucky realised he had no idea what had been happening around him.

He realised that he had been watching Steve dance for thirty-nine minutes.

 _Der'mo_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> uspokoysya lyubov' - calm down, love  
> ty idiot - you're an idiot  
> moy dorogoy - my darling  
> Radi vsego svyatogo! - for god's sake  
> Vyglyadish' potryasayushche - you look amazing  
> Der'mo - shit


	10. How was this not obvious?

Bucky did not know what was happening with his life.

All he could see was Steve. He couldn't stop thinking about him. 

He closed his eyes. Steve's face floated in front of them. 

He closed his eyes. He smelled apples and peppermint.

He thought about Steve writing a song because his mother had just died in his arms, and Bucky's stomach wanted to crawl out of his mouth.

Bucky wanted to run his fingers through Steve's hair. He wanted to map out Steve's skin and his body using just his hands and his mouth. He wondered if Steve tasted as good as he smelled, as he looked, as he sounded.

Bucky did not know what was happening to his life.

So he did the only thing he could:  
1\. He turned off his computer.  
2\. He turned off his phone and threw it into his closet.  
3\. He dug out his DVDs of the entire five seasons of _Hawkeye and the Black Widow._  
4\. He did not go to school for three days.

Also:  
1\. Steve Rogers kissed Sharon Carter.  
2\. Rebecca Barnes overdosed on heroin.  
3\. Sam Wilson finally told him what was going on.

There was probably a logical sequence of events that led to the above. Bucky was trying to figure out what that was.


	11. Aka The Chapter That Would Have My Eighth Grade Religion Teacher In Tears

Bucky woke up on Friday morning not really sure that he'd slept at all. At some point, he must have fallen asleep, because the alarm on his phone woke him up. But he didn't remember sleeping. What Bucky did remember was lying on his bed, awake and staring at the ceiling and thinking about Steve. Actually, he spent most of the time awake and staring at the ceiling and thinking about how many other nights he'd been thinking about Steve, only clearly Bucky had been too dumb-assed and terrified to acknowledge what it meant. Bucky wanted to punch himself in the face. 

How could he have been so stupid?

More importantly, how did he not recognise it sooner?

Bucky tried to rationally pinpoint the moments that may have led to the scary situation he found himself in.

1\. He met Steve.  
2\. ...

That was the last rational moment Bucky was able to pinpoint.

Everything that followed was just a confused, insane tangle, like a jumble of videos and photos and drawings with no particular order or logic, a montage of Steve's face, his smile, his laugh and eyes and voice and body and lips and hands and-

Bucky closed his eyes to stop the onslaught. _What am I going to do?_

At some point before dawn, Bucky realised the answer was simple. He wasn't going to do anything. He was going to recognise it for what it was - a simple schoolboy crush, like he'd heard normal human beings occasionally got on other human beings. That was all. Bucky had been spending almost all his time with Steve, it was a miracle it had taken him so long to realise what was going on. If Bucky reversed the situation, it would go away.

There was no other option. Bucky had to get it under control.

Then his alarm screeched, and Bucky woke up thinking about seeing Steve at school. Bucky's stomach leapt into his throat at the thought. He also wanted to run out of the house in his pyjamas, just so he could see Steve sooner. 

He did not have it under control.

Bucky rolled over and buried his face in his pillow.

Steve. Bucky couldn't possibly be feeling what he was feeling for Steve. For one, it was Steve. For two, he was Bucky's friend - one of his best friends. For three, it was _Steve._ Steve knew exactly what he was doing. He'd been in a relationship before. If Steve thought of Bucky as anything more than a friend, he would've done something. There was no way, in this universe or any other, that Steve Rogers could have romantic feelings for Bucky Barnes. The thought made Bucky feel like a creature of some kind was shredding its way through his intestines. 

There was a logical solution to this problem. It was Friday. If Bucky skipped school, that would give him three days to get his head back into a reasonable state. He could avoid Steve for three days, easy. Three days of not seeing him, or speaking to him, or saying his name. Like a detox. Like putting himself into quarantine until the horrible alien virus was flushed out of his system.

Hell, Luke Skywalker had a crush on his sister. If he managed to get over that, Bucky could get over his crush, too.

Bucky sent Sam a text that said, _Sick. Staying home._ Then he turned his phone off. He hauled himself out of bed and turned off his laptop. He climbed back in bed. And then he climbed out again and buried his phone and his laptop underneath the old clothes on the top shelf of his wardrobe. He closed the wardrobe door. He propped a chair in front of the door.

Bucky dug out the stupid gay porn magazines that Clint had gotten him from his drawer and threw them away. He wasn't taking any chances. 

Since Bucky was hardly ever sick, his ma didn't protest when Bucky told her he wasn't going to school. She just touched his forehead for a few seconds, and told him that he looked pale and that he was having soup for lunch. That was fine by Bucky.

Bucky buried himself under his covers and was prepared to wait it out. He heard the click of the front door as his ma left for work. The apartment was silent. The building was silent. Bucky's heartbeat boomed in the blanket cocoon. 

Bucky thought about the argument Steve and he had on the phone the week before: whether Ren McCormack was an absolute douche or not (he definitely was). He thought about the look on Steve's face whenever he listened to music. He thought about the stupid peacock-feather hat that was hanging in his wardrobe because Steve had asked him to buy it. He thought about Dum Dum Dugan and his moustache and bowler hat. He thought about when Steve went away, about Bucky's stupid, asshole brain refusing to accept that he was miserable without Steve. Bucky thought about Steve's arms around his waist, his forehead against Bucky's, the skin of Steve's cheek soft and warm under Bucky's lips-

_This. Is. Not. Helping._

Bucky also realised that being alone with his thoughts probably wasn't the best way to block out the thoughts of Steve and his blue and green eyes and his soft, gentle hands with callouses on the fingertips and the way his face lit up when he smiled and-

Bucky leapt out of bed and started pacing.

A distraction. He needed a distraction.

Bucky almost ran into the living room. And then he realised, with a growing sense of horror, that his go-to movies and TV shows were effectively useless. He couldn't watch Disney or Footloose because Steve introduced him to those. He couldn't watch his horror movies because he'd lent every single one of them to Steve because he'd never watched a horror movie before. 

Bucky bolted back upstairs and searched through his closet. Right at the back, stuffed behind a blue woolly jumper that was a gift from his grandmother, was a DVD set of the _Hawkeye and the Black Widow_ animated series that had been a birthday present from Clint the year before. There were five seasons - at least a week's worth. And it had zero connection to Steve Rogers.

Bucky grabbed a blanket from his bed and walked back to the lounge room. He made a giant pot of bitter black coffee, because Steve always had his coffee with cream and sugar. He locked all the doors and closed all the blinds. And then Bucky huddled under the blanket on his couch, on the opposite side from where he and Steve had sat that night when Steve had gotten back from London, and prepared to sweat Steve Rogers out of his system.

Three days.

_I will get over this._

Three days.

 

\-----

 

Bucky almost made it, too.

Actually, it wasn't even close. He made it to one in the afternoon before grabbing his phone. He couldn't help it.

That was due to the fact that between _Hawkeye and the Black Widow_ episodes, Bucky spent thirty-four minutes going over the calendar in his school diary to try to find the last time he went one day without speaking to Steve. He approached the task as methodically as he could, marking each Steve day with a blue X across the date. Bucky realised that in six months, apart from the few torturous days that he was away, Bucky had not gone one single goddamned day without talking to Steve.

Bucky turned on his phone and waited for the Wi-Fi to connect. The phone beeped. There were four missed calls and a message from Steve. Bucky's heart lurched when he saw Steve's name and picture appear on his screen. 

_Are you okay? Answer your phone or I'm gonna think you're dead._

Bucky also had two missed calls and a message from Sam.

_Call me. Clint told everyone you have cholera._

_Of course he did._ Bucky turned off his phone again and went back to bed. Time seemed to stop. 

But his brain would not shut up. It was chanting at him, like some kind of demonic creature hell-bent on driving Bucky insane. It was chanting:

_Steve. Steve. Steve. Steve._

Why did it have to be Steve?

Of all the stupid people in the goddamned universe who Bucky's stupid goddamned hormones or libido or whatever could have chosen to have a chemical reaction to, why Steve?

Bucky refused to admit to himself that he already knew the answer. _Because it's Steve._

Bucky tugged the blankets back over his head and gave up trying to push Steve's face from his brain. Bucky fell asleep with the sound of Steve's voice echoing in his head, and a feeling in his chest like someone was trying to scoop his heart out with a spoon.

 

\----

 

Bucky spent Saturday curled in the foetal position on his bedroom floor with his face pressed up against the blank page of a sketchbook. He'd heard a theory that trauma was good fuel for artistic expression, but the only ideas swirling in Bucky's head were of Steve's face and hands and eyes and smile and-

_Damnit, Barnes._

Bucky was incapable of speaking to anyone until midday, when he texted Sam one sentence:

_Come over. Now._

Twenty minutes later, Sam had let himself in with the spare key under the doormat and was sitting on Bucky's bed, listening to Bucky pour his stupid little heart out. Sam was silent for what felt like hours.

"You're in love with him," he finally said.

"No!" Bucky said quickly. "No, no, definitely not. This is just a stupid crush, and it's gonna go away soon, and-"

"You can't fool me, Barnes," Sam cut in, raising an eyebrow. "I know everything about you. You're my best friend."

Bucky sighed, and rested his head on Sam's thigh. "Then why are you keeping secrets from me?"

Sam was quiet. Bucky craned his head to look over at Sam. "Hey. It's okay. I get that you're going through a tough time at the moment."

Sam looked down at him, a pained expression on his face. "You only want to help. It isn't fair if I keep this from you."

"You can tell me if you want," Bucky said gently. "I want to help, but I don't want to force you into anything."

Sam took a deep breath. "Okay. T'Challa and I were dating."

Bucky was definitely not expecting that. 

"We'd seen each other around school a bit, but I really got to know him when he started going to my dojo about a year after I started. We got partnered up a lot, because we were about the same size and skill level. At the start of last year, just after I got my dan black belt, we were beating the shit out of each other at his place - practising. We ended up on the floor and, uh..." Sam trailed off and cleared his throat. 

"Yeah," Bucky said, hiding his smile. "I'm kinda annoyed you lost your virginity before I did, though." 

Sam shoved him, but there was no heat behind it. "Anyway, we started dating after that." His eyes turned wistful. "I really loved him, Bucky."

"What happened?" Bucky asked softly. Sam let out a short bark of laughter, but there was no humour behind it. 

"We were up in my bedroom one day, about a week before school started this year. Just kissing, nothing too bad. But... my dad walked in. I didn't know he was homophobic. He waited until T'Challa had left to tell me that either I turn straight, or I'm on the streets." Sam stopped, and brought a hand up to his mouth. Bucky sat up to sit against the wall with Sam, wrapping his arm around his friend's shoulders. Sam leaned into him, silently shaking. 

"So you broke up with him," Bucky said quietly. "And quit martial arts, too."

Sam nodded, his body shuddering. Bucky placed a small kiss on the top of Sam's head, rubbing circles into his shoulder.

"I still love him, Bucky," Sam whispered.

"I know, Sammy," Bucky said softly, leaning his head on top of Sam's. "I know."

 

\----

 

Bucky spent Sunday in a daze. He texted back and forth with Sam a bit, and it turned out the one thing going right for once was that he and Sam were back on track. He stayed in bed, and his ma came in a few times, mostly with kuryniy soup because apparently, Bucky wasn't eating. He hadn't noticed.

On Monday, everything seemed disturbingly out of touch and yet completely the same. Clint and Natasha were their usual selves. Sam had come out of his shell and was talking to Bucky again, which was the biggest relief Bucky had felt in what felt like decades. Bucky tried to avoid Steve, and Sam helped, even if he wasn't happy about it and told Bucky to act like an adult in the shitty circumstances. 

But still, with all his attempts at avoiding Steve, Bucky ran into him on his way back to his locker at the end of the day. Obviously, Steve wasn't alone. He was never alone. The shocking thing was that he was pinned to the lockers - _Bucky's locker_ \- and his lips were locked furiously with Sharon Carter's. 

Bucky stopped dead in his tracks. The spoon was trying to carve out his chest again. He tried to move, but his legs were frozen in place. _This could not be happening._

Steve's hands were on Sharon's hips, and her fingers were raking through his hair. There were already several hickeys blooming on Steve's jaw and neck. 

"I feel like I'm interrupting something," Bucky said loudly, and Steve practically threw Sharon off him. Bucky put his hand on his hip and raised his eyebrow, willing his voice not to crack or his eyes to start watering.

"Bucky, I've been waiting for you-"

"You looked pretty occupied to me," Bucky replied, brushing past Steve to open his locker and throw his textbooks in, probably with too much force. "I'll get out of your way." He turned around to throw a forced smile at Steve. "Next time, don't do it against my locker."

Then Bucky walked down the hall, away from Steve, his backpack clutched firmly in his hand. When he looked back, Sharon had pinned Steve back up against the lockers and was sucking another hickey onto his neck. Steve's eyes met Bucky's, and Bucky quickly turned away. As he rounded the corner, Bucky felt a tear slowly making its way down his cheek.

 

\----

 

Tuesday was worse. Bucky avoided Steve like the plague, which was pretty hard, considering Steve seemed to be everywhere. In biology, Wanda took one look at him and launched into another one of Pietro's ridiculous adventures. It brought a smile to Bucky's face. On the way to the dining hall, Bucky saw Steve and Sharon having a hushed conversation in the hallway. Neither looked happy. Bucky turned the other way and hid in the toilets for the rest of lunchtime. 

At the end of the day, Bucky was supposed to meet with Sam. Instead, he found T'Challa pressed against the brick wall at the bike racks at the back of the school, with Sam kissing him softly and sweetly. Bucky couldn't help but think of the day before, when he'd found Steve and Sharon in the same position. He left them alone, and shot off a text to Sam about a minute later.

_I'm happy for you, man._

An hour later, Bucky got a text back.

_Thanks._

By Wednesday, Bucky's misery had morphed into a physical manifestation - his legs felt shattered and his chest hurt constantly. Tony took one look at his face in the morning and put in a special request with the office to obtain Bucky's services for the entire day. Bucky had no idea that Tony could actually do that, but damn was he grateful. Tony sat Bucky in front of the computer and put on a remake of _Scream._ It was terrible, but Tony's constant commentary and hoard of chocolate and caffeinated drinks were nice. 

Tony didn't ask any questions, which Bucky was grateful for. Despite not knowing Tony that well, Bucky did know that he wasn't great with emotions, which was such a nice fucking change from Natasha's concerned glances and Clint's weird heart-to-hearts that seemed to be getting more and more common. All Tony did was ask, "Rogers?" and when Bucky nodded, he just clapped him on the shoulder.

Thursday, Bucky decided that he could not face school. When his ma came into his room and he was still in bed, Bucky didn't even have the energy to make something up. He just tugged the blankets up to his chin and told her that he needed a day off. Ma sat on the edge of Bucky's bed and looked at him for about fifteen seconds. 

"So... I haven't seen Steve around this week," she said carefully.

Bucky closed his eyes and willed the lump in his throat to go away. "I guess not," he whispered.

"Oh, James," his ma said softly, and held him as he cried. 

On Friday, pretty much the same thing happened, but with less crying. Then Bucky realised, as soon as his ma had left for work, that he couldn't stay alone in the house. He grabbed jeans and a T-shirt from the floor. Bucky was halfway down the street when he realised that he hadn't showered in two days, hadn't brushed his teeth, and his hair was all over the place. He probably looked like a drug addict. 

His feet somehow found their way to the Black Dahlia. Happy Sam opened the door, squinting like he hadn't seen the sun in days. There was a large stain on the front of his shirt, and the shadow of stubble across his chin. "Bucky, what the hell, man? It's like, 9 in the morning."

"Did I wake you?" Bucky asked distractedly. Happy Sam yawned.

"Yeah. Gig last night. Maybe it was this morning. Or two days ago. I dunno." He peered at Bucky. "You look awful. What's up?"

Bucky stood frozen in the doorway, not sure what exactly he was doing there. He couldn't breathe, and the smell of coffee, cigarettes and beer was just reminding him of Steve, because Steve introduced him to this place, and _he should never have come here-_

"There's a boy," Bucky choked. 

Happy Sam nodded, and hustled Bucky inside. Gabe and Dernier were sharing a couch, both fast asleep. Falsworth was nursing a cup of coffee at the bar counter, clutching his head and moaning occasionally. Bucky guessed that Dum Dum, Pinky, Morita and Juniper were upstairs. As Happy Sam closed the door with a little more force than necessary, Gabe and Dernier both jumped awake. Dum Dum almost skipped down the stairs, and Bucky couldn't help but scowl. Of course Dum Dum Dugan was the type of person to never get hangovers. Dum Dum's expression quickly turned solemn when he saw Bucky though.

"Someone had better be on fire," Gabe groaned out.

"There's a boy situation," Happy Sam replied, and pointed at Bucky. 

"That boy is a situation, or he has a situation with another boy?" Dernier asked.

"Another boy."

"Romantic?"

"Yep."

Falsworth groaned again. "I know that feeling."

"Bad?" Dum Dum asked softly. Bucky couldn't trust himself to speak, so he just nodded. There were murmurs from all the guys that sounded sympathetic. 

Apparently, there were protocols for the situation. Gabe stuck a cassette tape on - seriously, a cassette tape? - and some wailing stuff came through the speakers that was so depressing that Bucky wouldn't have been surprised if the entire band killed themselves after recording. Bucky considered adopting his foetal position on the floor. He decided that a fungal infection from the carpet would not be going on his list of problems, so he curled into a ball on a dusty armchair.

"You want to talk about it, son?" Dum Dum asked gently. Bucky felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and squeezed them shut. He opened his mouth, but nothing would come out.

"Steve."

That was not what was meant to come out, but Dum Dum leaned back, as if satisfied. From his spot on the couch, Gabe winced. 

It was at that point that Falsworth told the story of his traumatic love life, where his fiancée ran off with a French guitarist. Dernier winced and admitted that it might have been him. Gabe gave Bucky a rundown of his boyfriend history - something that Bucky would have much rather not have known. The only thing he took from the stories was to never go out with someone who stole your drumkit on the first date. Bucky didn't own a drumkit, and he was pretty sure he could have drawn the same conclusion all on his own.

Happy Sam gave him a beer. It tasted like feet and bellybutton lint. Bucky choked down a few sips to be polite. Eventually, the conversation shifted to non-relationship territory, and Bucky lost himself in the music and voices and cigarette fog. When it became too much, Bucky left.

Before he walked out the door, Dum Dum had clasped him on the shoulder. "Pain passes. Remember that. And Steve may be an idiot, but he's also a swell kid. Just like you." Dum Dum paused. "Good luck, James."

The sun was high in a perfect, clear sky. Bucky realised that he hadn't eaten anything since the few bites of chicken soup the night before. Bucky didn't want to be back at home, so his feet decided to take him to the Mexican place with nachos under ten dollars. The waiter with the ridiculous moustache was there, and greeted him like an old friend. Bucky sat at the bar and ordered the nachos. The music was that upbeat Latin stuff with people shouting random phrases in Spanish at given intervals. It was probably as helpful for Bucky's mood as the wailing stuff at the Black Dahlia. 

The waiter leaned over the bar with a dirty dishcloth over his shoulder, and asked if everything was okay. Bucky ended up spilling his entire life story to the guy, slipping into Russian at random intervals. The guy seemed to understand though, and poured Bucky a tequila shot. It was no vodka, but it did the job.

It was almost the end of school when Bucky left the Mexican place. He still had no clue what he was doing, or where he was going. 

He considered hiding out in the comic book store Clint and Natasha spend their weekends at.

He considered drowning himself in crap coffee at the old Russian diner. 

He considered sitting in the darkness of a movie theatre and losing himself in a movie.

Bucky jumped on a train. He didn't really know where he was going, but his subconscious must have been leading him somewhere. Bucky found himself at the front door of a sorority house, and a pretty girl with dark braids opened the door for him. 

"Does Rebecca Barnes live here?" he asked politely. The girl took in his dishevelled appearance, and glared at him suspiciously.

"Who wants to know?"

"I'm her brother. Bucky."

The girl still didn't look convinced, but another who was passing by let out a sound of surprise. "Oh, of course! Come in. Becca hasn't left her room today - I think she's sick."

"Which room is hers?"

"Number seven. Second floor. Her roomie's out today, and nobody wanted to wake her up." The girl frowned. "She's been having a hard time lately."

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows. Becca hadn't said anything about having a hard time when she'd called for her weekly check-in on Monday. He took the stairs two at a time, and knocked on the door with the gold-plated 7.

"Becks, you in there? It's me."

No answer. Bucky frowned, and pounded a bit harder. 

"Becca, open up. I need to talk to you."

There was silence on the other side. Bucky felt a lump of dread curling in his gut, and opened the door. 

His little sister was lying in a pool of vomit in the middle of the floor. Her eyes were rolled up into her head, her skin was blue, and her limbs twitched at random intervals. A belt was wrapped around her bicep, and an empty syringe lay a few feet away.

Bucky heard an ear-splitting scream as he ran across the room to her. It didn't even occur to him that the sound came from him. There were more screams from behind him as he brushed the hair off Becca's face and pushed against her chest, trying to do CPR with his one arm. The girl who opened the door for him had removed his hand and was doing it herself, and the other girl was frantically screaming into Bucky's phone, which he must have dropped. Bucky cradled Becca to his chest, his vision blurry and his head spinning. The belt. The syringe. The belt. The syringe.

Paramedics flooded the room, followed quickly by Natasha, Clint and Sam - the girl must have called them as well. Clint's face turned pale when he saw Becca, and Bucky collapsed into Natasha's arms. Sam helped the traumatized girls out of the room per the paramedic's instructions. Bucky's legs couldn't hold his weight. Natasha was supporting his whole body. Clint came over and helped her guide Bucky to the floor. The syringe was picked up by a paramedic. 

Police came in not long after. The syringe was bagged. Little tags with numbers on them were placed all around the room. Bucky was ushered out of the room. The puddle of vomit was still wet. Natasha got into a screaming match with a policeman twice her size when he tried not-so-gently to question Bucky. They were removed from the premises. Sam helped Clint and Natasha half-carry Bucky to a cab, and then they all went to the hospital. Bucky's ears were buzzing. All he could see was Becca's broken frame on her bedroom floor.

The hospital was too bright, too white. Becca was taken immediately to the operating room, and nurses and doctors rushed past Bucky as if he was invisible. As soon as Natasha let go of him, Bucky felt his knees buckle and he would have hit the floor if Sam hadn't caught him. Bucky was treated for shock. His ma came rushing in later, his aunt in tow. Bucky let her sob into his shoulder.

Becca came out of surgery late. Sam and Clint had to go home, and Natasha had a shift at the diner.

"I can skip it," she said ferociously. "You're here alone, and I know you need someone here with you."

"Your boss will fire you," Bucky said numbly.

"I don't care."

"Go, Nat."

The silence was stifling. Then Natasha was kissing his cheek and whispering a Russian prayer into his ear.

"что бы мы ни делали, мы делаем это вместе."

_Whatever we do, we do it together._

Ma was knocked out on the other side of the waiting room, curled up in a small, uncomfortable hospital chair. Bucky's aunt had to go home - she had a five-year-old, and the babysitter left at nine. Bucky sat with his knees curled up to his chest, his face buried in his hand. He'd run out of tears, he'd run out of anger. He was just numb. 

"Buck?"

Bucky looked up. Steve Rogers was standing in front of him.

Completely forgetting that he was meant to be avoiding Steve, that Steve had kissed Sharon, that Bucky was completely in love with this idiot, Bucky flung himself into Steve's arms. Steve was warm and solid and smelled like a campfire, and Bucky realised that he was freezing and still covered in puke and _so tired,_ but Steve didn't care, he never cared about stuff like that, and his hand was in Bucky's hair and his lips were on Bucky's forehead and his arms were wrapped tightly around Bucky's waist and _Bucky wanted to kiss him so bad-_

Bucky was full-on ugly sobbing at that point, and Steve didn't care because he only cared about things that mattered, and he was murmuring apologies into Bucky's hair and _no, you shouldn't be the one who's sorry, I was the one who avoided you all week -_

They had migrated to a chair that was far too small to fit just one of them, but it didn't matter because Steve's arms were wrapped around Bucky, and his fingers were in his hair, and his lips were on his forehead, and all Bucky could do was hang on for dear life as he was swept up by his ocean of fear and pain and regret and grief. Steve just held him tighter. 

"It's alright, Buck," Steve murmured. "It's okay. I've got you, sweetheart."

Bucky just sobbed harder. It was ridiculous, the way he had been avoiding Steve. Yes, it was a bit more than a simple crush. Yes, Steve was not interested in him. Yes, Steve apparently had a girlfriend now. That didn't matter, because Steve was still his friend, and Bucky would rather have him as a friend than as nothing, and he was stupid for ever thinking otherwise because _it had hurt Steve too._

"Stay with me," Bucky choked out. Steve kissed the top of his head.

"Always, Buck."


	12. Don't Do Drugs, Kids

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like my humorous chapter names are a bit inappropriate at the moment.

Life tip: never sleep on a hospital chair. Bucky woke up with a crick in his neck, a sore back, and pins and needles kept running up and down his thighs. But none of that mattered.

Because Becca was alive.

The night was spent in a horrible half-asleep state, where Bucky drifted in and out of consciousness and kept seeing the scene of Becca's tiny body on the floor, unmoving. More than once he woke up crying, and Steve was always there to bring him back from the brink.

God, _Steve._ He'd stayed through the night, into the morning. He'd caught Bucky when his knees buckled after the doctors told him that Becca had survived the surgery. He'd held Bucky when Becca's heart stopped suddenly, and the doctors had to use a defibrillator to get it to start again. 

"You don't have to stay, y'know," Bucky mumbled at about nine in the morning. "You're probably exhausted, and your dad might be wondering where you are."

"My dad's in LA for the next week," Steve said. "And if I should be going home, then so should you."

Bucky glared at him. "I'm not leaving until I know that Becca's okay."

"And I'm not leaving until I know that you'll be okay," Steve shot back. His chin jutted up in that endearing way that it did whenever Steve was feeling particularly stubborn, and Bucky sighed, knowing he wouldn't be able to win the argument.

At ten-thirty, the doctor came out. Bucky's ma had woken up by then and was flitting around the waiting room, and not even Steve could calm her down.

"She's stable," the doctor said, and Bucky collapsed again. Steve caught him again. Steve always caught him.

"Sweetie, you should go home," Ma said, stroking Bucky's cheek. "You're dead on your feet."

"But Becca-"

"Will be fine," his ma said sternly, then turned to Steve. " _Sladkiy_ , could you stay with him? I need to stay here, and I don't want him to be alone."

"Of course, ma'am," Steve said, and smiled at her. Bucky suddenly felt incredibly tired, and leaned back into Steve's chest. Steve's lips brushed the top of Bucky's head. "Come on, Buck."

Bucky let Steve half-carry him out of the hospital and put him in the taxi that was waiting outside, then leaned into Steve's side as soon as the car started moving. Steve's arm went around his shoulders, and Bucky closed his eyes.

He must have fallen asleep because when he opened his eyes again, the taxi had pulled up in front of Steve's apartment block. Steve had apparently decided that Bucky was incapable of walking, and picked him up with ease. Bucky would have complained about it, but all he could do was lean back into Steve's chest and breathe in his scent. Steve set him on the bed and took out a pair of sweatpants and a shirt from his closet.

"Change into these," he said gently. Bucky didn't have the strength to argue. 

The pants were soft and a bit too big, so the ends slipped under Bucky's heels. The shirt was grey and cotton, and was also too big. It smelled like Steve. 

Bucky curled up in a ball on the bed, and barely noticed when Steve came back in and sat down next to him. Neither of them said anything. Steve's hand slipped into Bucky's. Bucky leaned his head on Steve's shoulder. They stayed there for a very long time. Bucky didn't even know what time it was when Steve finally moved away.

"Do you like pasta? I'm gonna make pasta."

Bucky managed a watery smile. He remembered the countless times before his dad died, when he'd get home to see his ma in hysterics after another drunken call or visit. Every time, he and Becca would make absolutely terrible Bolognese, because Becca couldn't cook for shit and they always forgot to tell each other when they'd added ingredients. "I love pasta."

Steve smiled at him and stood up, holding out a hand and not letting go when Bucky took it. Steve sat him down on the couch and walked into the adjacent kitchen, humming softly as he went. Bucky closed his eyes and drew his knees up to his chest, focusing on the sound of Steve's voice and the notes that made up the song. He didn't recognise it, but that wasn't really surprising - Bucky wasn't that good when it came to music. Bucky didn't even realise he'd started crying until the tears soaked through the knees of his sweatpants. He wiped at his face, frustration gnawing on his insides. If he could just _stop crying_ all the damned time...

"Hey." 

Steve's voice was too gentle. It was always too gentle. He needed something else, something rougher. Bucky wanted to tell Steve to yell at him, hit him the way his father used to, hold him by the neck like Rumlow and rip at the stump of his shoulder that was still so sensitive to touch, even after the rehab and surgeries and beatings.

Instead, Bucky felt Steve's arms wrap around him softly and firmly, and Bucky was selfish because he clung to that gentleness and safety, even though he didn't deserve it. 

"Hey, it's okay. It's okay, Buck," Steve murmured, and Bucky realised he'd been speaking out loud, alternating between English and Russian like he always did when he was as upset as he was. Steve was so kind and so beautiful and Bucky didn't deserve him, and Steve should be with someone beautiful and whole, who smiled and laughed and told jokes and could make Steve happy. And even though he knew this, Bucky couldn't help but bury his face further into Steve's neck and breathe in his scent, because Bucky was a selfish man and he wanted nothing more than to lean up and press his lips to Steve's.

"You didn't burn the pasta, did you?" Bucky croaked. Steve muffled his laugh in Bucky's hair. 

"I can actually cook things, you know."

"Like how you cooked that popcorn?"

"I still think that was your fault."

Bucky let out a pretty pathetic sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and he buried his face in Steve's neck. "Of course you'd say that."

Then Steve was picking him up again, but Bucky's legs were around his waist and their hips were pressed flush together and _god, Bucky was so fucked-_

Bucky let out a very embarrassing squeak and tightened his grip on Steve's shirt, silently praying that his body would behave itself and not do anything embarrassing.

"What are you doing?" he managed to get out. Steve frowned at him. His face was really close to Buckys.

"You haven't eaten for about a day, have you?"

"I'm fine," Bucky insisted, and Steve's frown deepened.

"You are going to eat at least one bowl of pasta if I have to spoon feed it to you," Steve threatened. Bucky's already warm face went impossibly hot, and he leaned his forehead on Steve's shoulder.

"Just don't give me food poisoning, Rogers," Bucky mumbled out. Steve's laugh reverberated through Bucky's whole body.

They ended up eating out of the same bowl, because Steve hadn't washed the dishes and neither of them could be bothered waiting. They sat on the counter, Steve holding the bowl and Bucky occasionally leaning over to spear a mouthful. Steve's thigh was warm against Bucky's. They finished off the whole pot.

After, they sat on the couch and watched a movie. It was ridiculous, really - Bucky's little sister was in the hospital, and he was almost on Steve's lap and watching Star Wars. And because Bucky's brain hated him, it made him remember exactly why he hadn't talked to Steve for the whole week.

"Listen, Steve," Bucky began, "I haven't said it yet, but I'm happy for you. Sharon is - well, I wouldn't say she's great, because she hates me - but... it looks like she makes you happy, and that's pretty great."

Because Bucky loved torturing himself. God, he wished he could keep his mouth shut. 

Bucky felt Steve's head turn from the TV to look at him, and kept his gaze resolutely on the screen. Han Solo was coming out of that cryo-freeze - it was one of his favourite parts. Also because Harrison Ford was an absolute _krasota_.

"Bucky, what are you talking about?"

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Dude. You. Sharon Carter. Your make out session against my locker. The fact that you two are joined at the hip. I'm not an idiot."

"No, no, Buck, you've got it all wrong," Steve said quickly. Bucky finally looked over at him with a raised eyebrow. Steve's face was red, and he looked almost horrified. "Sharon and I aren't dating."

Bucky raised his eyebrow higher. "You don't need to keep it from me, Steve. I'm not gonna make fun of you or anything." God, why was he digging himself into this hole? Bucky knew that the conversation would not end well for him, but he forged ahead because he was an idiot.

"Okay," Steve sighed, and pinched his brow. Bucky braced himself for the inevitable heartbreak that would come with the conversation. "You weren't at school on Friday, and then I had to go to Massachusetts over the weekend and I don't think I slept at all, and then you were acting weird on Monday, and Sharon kinda pinned me against the lockers while I was waiting for you and I was definitely delirious and far too confused and sleep deprived to do anything but just stand there, and-" 

Steve paused for a breath, then looked sheepish. "I like Sharon, sure. But not like that."

Bucky blinked. "You were literally-"

"Yeah, I know."

Steve's face was red again. Bucky blinked again. 

"And I know that you were a little upset-"

"What?" Was Bucky seriously that obvious?

"Because you and Sharon, uh... _dislike_ each other-"

_Oh thank god._

"And so even if I was interested in... dating her, I didn't want to mess up our friendship by going out with someone you don't approve of."

"You wouldn't go out with her because you want my approval on the person you date," Bucky said numbly. _Well, wasn't this a catch-22._

"I don't want anything to change between us," Steve said. His eyes were wide and pleading, his Golden Retriever stare. Bucky hated how that look took his breath away like some dumb Nancy Myers movie.

"...You don't?" Bucky knew he sounded like a child, but he couldn't help it. Steve's thumb was rubbing circles into his neck, and he was warm and tired and overly emotional and he deserved to let his guard down just a little bit.

Steve leaned his head back against the couch. "You know, I've never been anywhere that's felt so... solid. I don't think I realised how much I wanted that until I moved here. Out of all the places I've lived, this is the one that's felt the most like home." Steve turned his head to look at Bucky. There was a look in his eyes that Bucky couldn't quite place. "Buck... you and the others are... the best friends I've ever had. I don't want anything to change that either. I'm just... I'm just tired. Of everything around me changing all the time." He held Bucky's gaze. "I just want to stay with you."

Bucky was pretty sure he stopped breathing for a moment. Steve's eyes were boring into his, stripping his conscious layer by layer until he was completely bare, and Bucky revelled in the feeling. It took all of his self-control to not kiss Steve senseless.

"Me too," Bucky whispered. Steve's hands were back on Bucky's waist, and Bucky hooked his leg over Steve to settle in his lap. It would have been so easy to press his lips to Steve's, but then Steve was pulling him in so Bucky was pressed against his chest, his face in the crook of Steve's neck. Bucky closed his eyes and curled his fingers into the fabric of Steve's shirt, and he knew that he would never get over how intoxicating Steve smelled. Steve's hands were roaming over Bucky's back, tracing patterns and working out the knots in the muscles. Bucky practically melted, and he would have been embarrassed if he wasn't so tired, and it didn't feel so good. 

Bucky's phone started ringing from where it was on the counter. Bucky sighed softly, and moved off Steve to answer it. He could almost imagine that Steve's grip had tightened before he'd let go. When Bucky picked up the phone, he realised with a start that it was already five in the evening.

"How's Becca?" Bucky asked immediately.

"She's awake." His ma sounded like she was about to drop. "She's so lucky, James. I'm so glad you got there when you did. You saved her life, baby."

Bucky's throat felt thick with tears. "Okay. I'm on my way."

"No, you're not," his ma said firmly - or as firmly as she could, given that she hadn't properly slept in about two days. "You're going to stay with Steve and get a good night's sleep. You can come to the hospital in the morning."

" _Pozhaluysta mama_ ," Bucky pleaded. "I need to see her."

"James." His ma's voice was gentle. "Please."

Bucky let his head fall, and his hair fell into his face and stuck there, because huzzah, there were more tears. His face was going to be super moisturized when it got dry.

"Okay. But as soon as I wake up tomorrow, I'm going to the hospital."

"Alright. Y _A lyublyu tebya_ , James."

Bucky heard the line disconnect, and slowly put the phone down.

"Buck?" 

Bucky turned around to see Steve standing there, forehead creased worriedly. Bucky crossed the few feet between them to bury his face in Steve's neck, his fingers curling through Steve's short hair. 

"You okay?" Steve murmured. He started to stroke Bucky's back again, and Bucky shuddered and leaned further into the embrace.

"Becca's awake," he mumbled. "Ma doesn't want me to come in until the morning, though. Says I should get some sleep first."

"I think I agree with her on that."

Bucky lifted his head to glare at Steve.

"Buck, you fell asleep on me in the cab, and that was over six hours ago and you still haven't slept." Steve brushed a stray lock of hair out of Bucky's eyes, and Bucky found himself unashamedly leaning into the touch. "Please stay."

Bucky searched Steve's face. "And you're sure you're okay with me crashing here for the night?"

Steve laughed. "Honestly, if I had to choose anyone to crash here, it'd be you."

Bucky felt his face heat up, and ducked his head. "I just don't wanna overstay my welcome, or anything. I can always go back to my place."

Steve's fingers were suddenly under Bucky's chin, tilting his head up gently. Bucky reluctantly met Steve's gaze, and was almost blown away by the sincerity he saw. "You will never overstay your welcome, Buck. I promise."

Bucky reached up to cup Steve's face. His palm barely touched Steve's cheek, but every nerve under his skin was on fire. "You're sure."

Steve's hand left Bucky's chin to wrap around his wrist. "I'm sure."

 

\-----

 

Bucky ended up having a shower before he went to bed. The water was scalding, and turned his skin pink and mottled, but Bucky couldn't bring himself to care. He stood under the hot water with his head bowed, and Bucky couldn't help but wish that Steve was holding him, that Steve was the one rubbing shampoo into his hair, that Steve's warm body was pressed flush against his own. Bucky ran the water cold.

When he stepped out, Bucky realised that Steve had left clothes hanging on a rack, and gratefully slipped into them. It was another pair of too-large sweatpants and a tank top, and the feeling of Bucky's overly-sensitive skin against the fabric was relaxing.

When Bucky came out of the bathroom, he saw Steve sitting on the bed, reading a book. He looked up as Bucky approached, but all Bucky did was pull back the covers beside him, lie down, and rest his head on Steve's thigh.

"Stay," Bucky mumbled. Steve's hand started carting through Bucky's hair.

"Always, Buck."

Bucky fell asleep to the feeling of Steve's hand in his hair and Steve's soft humming filling the room.

At some point, Steve must have gone to bed, because the next time Bucky woke up was to have Steve's arms wrapped tightly around his waist and his back against Steve's chest. Steve was breathing softly and quietly, his breath ghosting over the bare skin of Bucky's neck. Bucky leaned his head back to rest against Steve's, and Steve mumbled something in his sleep and pressed a soft kiss to Bucky's neck. Bucky fell asleep again with Steve's lips still pressed against his skin.

 

\-----

 

As soon as Becca saw him, she burst into tears. Bucky sat on the edge of her bed and held her. She looked painfully thin, her elbows bonier than normal and her cheeks gaunt and pale. Bucky bit back his own tears, and just tightened his grip on her. Becca had obviously been struggling with an addiction, and Bucky was too caught up in his own self-pity to realise she was slowly killing herself. He was amazed that she didn't scream at him and throw him out of the hospital room. 

"I'm so sorry, Becks," Bucky murmured, pressing a kiss to his sister's head. "I should've been there for you."

"It's not your fault," Becca choked. "It was my stupid boyfriend, and our stupid dad, and my stupid self."

"Tell me about it," Bucky said gently. "Please, _malen'kiy_. I want to help."

Becca took a deep breath. "I... I wasn't doing well after dad's death. I mean, none of us were, but when I got that scholarship, I just kinda threw myself into school. I didn't really sleep much or eat much, and I was basically living off coffee and ramen. I started dating this guy - I don't know how old he is, maybe twenty-four? But when I told him about it, he gave me a shot of heroin, said it would help. And... I couldn't stop." 

Bucky blinked back tears. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Becca rubbed at her face. "I didn't want you to worry. You're under so much stress, and I didn't want to add to it with my shit. I thought I could get over it by myself."

"I'll never be under too much stress to help you, Becca," Bucky said. "You're my little sister. I'd probably jump in front of a bus if you asked me to."

Becca choked out a laugh. "Always so dramatic, James."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while until Becca started to drift off. Bucky helped her settle down, and tucked the blankets under her chin like he used to do when they were kids. Just as he was getting up to leave, Becca grabbed his hand.

"James," she murmured.

"Yeah Becks, I'm here."

"You're in love with Steve, aren't you?"

Bucky fought down the lump in his throat. "Yeah. Yeah, I am."

Becca gave him a sleepy smile. "Good." She paused. "Take care of yourself, big brother."

Her eyes slid shut. The heart monitor flatlined.

"Becca?" Bucky's voice cracked. He shook her softly. "Becca. Becca, _no._ Becca, _radi boga, pozhaluysta_ , wake up! _Rebecca!_ "

Doctors and nurses rushed in, and Bucky felt one of them holding his shoulders, trying to pull him back. He tried to fight back, but could only watch as his little sister's tiny frame was obscured by white coats and blue gloves. He felt someone's arms around him, his ma's voice whispering in his ear as doctors placed what looked like two clothing irons against Becca's chest. Then the doctors stepped back. One of them called out the time. 

_Time of death: 9:43 am._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Sladkiy - dear  
> krasota - beauty  
> Pozhaluysta mama - please, mama  
> YA lyublyu tebya - I love you  
> malen'kiy - little one  
> radi boga, pozhaluysta - for god's sake, please


	13. Healthy Coping Mechanisms? Not In This House

Grief was a weird thing. It was like the worst acid trip ever, like getting a limb sawed off without anaesthesia. It was like watching as some crazy doctor in an underground bunker cut open your chest and pulled out your still-beating heart. It was eating a particular meal and breaking down because of the taste. It was turning a photograph face-down and changing the lock screen on your phone because it was unbearable to look at the pictures. It was laughing about a particular memory or event, and somewhere along the way the tears had started coming, and you're laughing and crying at the same time and you look fucking possessed and it's wanting to die and to live all at once because Becca would be damned if Bucky killed himself and she'd probably come back from the grave to slap him upside the head and tell him to get a grip on himself.

So, yeah. Bucky was a fucking mess.

He was in his last year at school, halfway through the third term, and drowning in the fact that his baby sister was dead. 

"It's not your fault, you know."

Bucky scoffed and threw back another shot of vodka. Natasha's voice was gentle, which was not a normal occurrence, and her expression was pinched and tired. Her hair was falling into her eyes, and her apron was dirty, and her shoulders were tense and scrunched up. The other patrons of the diner didn't pay them much attention, and none of them really seemed to care that a seventeen-year-old was drinking like an old Soviet sailor in the corner. 

"If I'd gotten there earlier, then maybe she would have survived," he said emotionlessly, fingers tapping on the empty shot glass.

"But you got there all the same," Natasha said softly. "If it wasn't for you, she would've died on the floor of her dorm. Because you found her, she got to say goodbye. I don't think you realise how big of a difference that makes."

"What does it matter? She's still dead."

"But you made her happy," Natasha said gently. "She's at peace."

Bucky glared at her through bloodshot eyes. "She was sixteen years old, Nat. Full scholarship ride to a great college when she was only in tenth grade. She had her whole life ahead of her, and it was taken away, just like that." He snapped his fingers. Natasha slid into the booth beside him and cupped Bucky's face in her hand.

"She would want you to keep fighting," Natasha said seriously. Her thumb brushed below Bucky's eye. "If you can't find any other reason to keep living, to live your life, then think of her."

Bucky's aunt and her kid moved in with them. Aunt Edith was Bucky's favourite growing up - she was smart as a whip and with a temper that rivalled Bucky's own, and was always the one to help after Bucky's dad had a particularly rough patch and they needed a safe place to stay. Bucky's cousin Alice was sweet and innocent, and the resemblance to Becca made Bucky's heart stutter. On nights she couldn't sleep, Alice would slip into Bucky's bed and press her cold feet against his thigh and he'd tell her stories about dragons and princesses and heroes who saved the day and lived happily ever after. 

Aunt Edith was now the one to throw away the empty vodka bottles, to make toasted sandwiches and leave them against Ma's door when she wouldn't come out. Aunt Edith would always force a smile when Bucky asked her about it, and she'd tell him, "She just needs some time, sweetheart. Give her time."

So Bucky did. He helped Aunt Edith with dinner and housework, and pretended not to notice the frequent trips to the liquor store and the smell of cigarettes that had started permeating the house. He watched as Winnifred Barnes lost weight, as her rosy complexion turned waxy and pale, as her hair started to turn grey and thin and greasy. He watched as the woman who had made him, raised him and cared for him fell into a pit of despair and self-loathing that he was powerless to pull her out of. She had almost lost her son, then she'd lost her husband, and she'd lost her daughter. Winnifred Barnes may have been a strong woman, but not that strong.

That was when Bucky came to a realisation. His father was dead. His sister was dead. His mother was slowly dying inside from grief. His aunt was terrified. His poor little cousin knew there was something wrong, and she was scared, too. Bucky was grieving, and he was scared, and most days he wanted to curl up and cry his little heart out. But he could do something. He could give himself a kick in the ass and stop moping around and help his family, because even though he was a seventeen-year-old amputee with severe mental issues and five bucks to his name, he wasn't nothing. 

So Bucky decided to keep living.


	14. Glitter And Nazis Are Not A Good Combination; The Sequel To The Autobiography By Bucky Barnes

Bucky wasn't sure if deciding to live his life counted as some weird rite of passage. Like some not-very-well-known religion had gods watching over him and thought, _yep, he's passed._ Whatever it was, Bucky wasn't exactly complaining.

He threw himself headfirst into school. It hadn't really hit him that he was going to be graduating at the end of the school year, and he was kinda behind. Bucky sent out his art portfolio to ten schools. He caught up on trigonometry and biology and psychology and health and English. He wrote five essays in two days. 

It suddenly felt like every spare moment of Bucky's life was filled with commitments - going to Howling Commandoes gigs, dropping Alice off at school, making dinner when Aunt Edith was on a late shift.

Bucky hung out at Steve's place most weekends when neither of them had anything pressing to do. Steve's dad was usually out, and they mostly sat around, watched TV, and had arguments about whether or not Mrs Martinelli from the front office really was the war hero Angela Martinelli who worked at MI6 and helped lead the feminist movement after the war (she totally was).

After some prodding, Steve finally played some music for Bucky, to help with his stage fright. Bucky learned that Steve had enrolled for the musical composition major at the school Bucky was accepted into. It made him giddy. 

"So you're staying?" Bucky had asked. Steve had turned to look at him, a smile playing on his lips.

"I just turned eighteen. I don't have to follow Dad around anymore. So even if he moves, hell yeah I'm staying."

Bucky hadn't been able to stop himself from leaning in and kissing Steve's cheek, and the smile that burst onto Steve's face made Bucky not regret the decision in the slightest.

Bucky had no idea what was going on between him and Steve. Clint said that Steve liked him back. Natasha told him to do what made him happy. Sam was adamant about not getting into Bucky's love life, which was both a relief and a hindrance, because Sam would refuse to help him in any situation where Steve was romantically concerned.

"I've had enough people messing around in my love life, dude," he'd said, crossing his arms. "I'm not going to do that to you."

Sam had, finally, talked to T'Challa. Bucky knew this because Sam had called him at one in the morning one night sounding giddy, and had confessed the whole thing. After that, Bucky frequently saw Sam and T'Challa talking quietly to each other, huge grins on their faces and hands interlinked. More than once, Okoye had rolled her eyes at him, as if to say, _Can you believe these idiots?_ She had no idea. 

Bucky wasn't the only one getting swamped with commitments, school and otherwise. Steve had become busier than ever - the Formal committee was getting him to work his ass off, the shelter was low on employees and needed Steve to do more shifts, and pair those with the ridiculous amount of schoolwork that was getting piled onto everyone's asses, Steve didn't exactly have a lot of spare time. 

March arrived quickly, and with it, Bucky's birthday. Natasha and Steve organised a surprise after-hours party at the old Russian diner. Since Clint was involved, it was a terrible surprise. Still, Bucky pretended to be shocked when he walked through the doors to find the diner covered in balloons and streamers, and a large cake in the shape of an old-fashioned painting palette that Clint had made. 

Bucky was very surprised by the number of people who showed up, though. Dum Dum and the Howling Commandoes were there, sitting at the counter and drinking the beer they'd brought with them. Wanda and Pietro showed up and got into a long conversation with an old Russian dude who hadn't seemed to realise that the place was closed for a private event. Okoye, Shuri and Nakia tagged along to laugh at the ridiculous adoration on T'Challa and Sam's faces every time they looked at each other. Tony showed up halfway through, with a pretty strawberry-blonde girl who he introduced as the famous Pepper. 

Since T'Challa became a sort-of official member of the group, Bucky had been trying to define the weird feeling he got whenever he saw T'Challa and Sam together. T'Challa was nice, polite and a total gentleman, as well as interesting, which was a hard line to walk in Bucky's opinion. He had a goofy smile reserved for Sam only. He spent hours talking to Clint about trajectory and archery as a sport or whatever, and managed to keep up with Natasha's quick thinking and even quicker mouth. Bucky wasn't sure if he could ever get used to his best friend having a boyfriend, although he was also slightly annoyed with himself that he hadn't noticed their relationship beforehand - it was so blatantly obvious. It was at the party that Bucky realised what the weird feeling was. He was kind of envious. T'Challa and Sam were obviously besotted with each other. Bucky craved for that.

Clint and Natasha gave Bucky a copy of the original _Hawkeye and the Black Widow_ comic, signed by Stan Lee. Bucky had no idea who that was, but he appreciated the sentiment. Sam and T'Challa's present was a little obsidian block carved into the shape of a panther, matched with a set of charcoal pencils. Tony gave him porn, and as soon as Bucky opened it, Pepper slapped him upside the head, muttering something about appropriate gifts. 

Steve spent the night running around frantically, filling people's drinks, choosing songs, breaking up fights, and making sure everyone knew everyone. A few times Bucky caught himself watching Steve as he talked to a guest, or muttered to himself every time a song he didn't like came on. Every time Bucky tore his eyes away, Dum Dum gave him a sympathetic look. 

Eventually, Steve grabbed Bucky to give him his present. "Okay, so I scoured the earth for the perfect thing, but since I couldn't find a young Josef Stalin lookalike, this was my next best option."

He handed Bucky a flat box. Inside was a necklace, with two little charms on it - a paintbrush, and a palette. It was almost a complete match to the one Bucky had given Steve. Bucky ran his hand over the palette. There was a little inscription on the back.

_Till the end of the line._

"Thoughts?" Steve asked. He looked nervous. 

Bucky looked up at him, and threw his arm around Steve's neck. "You're a sentimental dork, Rogers."

Steve laughed softly, his hands curling around Bucky's waist. "So you like it?"

"Stevie, it's amazing. I love it," Bucky said truthfully, and Steve's face broke into a smile. It was like staring into the sun.

"Buckster! Stop gazing into Rogers' eyes and get over here! It's cake time!" Tony hollered, then yelped as Pepper cuffed him across the head again.

"I should go," Bucky mumbled. Steve nodded, and dropped his hands from Bucky's waist.

"Yeah. I should probably break that up," Steve said, nodding over to where Shuri and Morita were arguing about something or other. 

"But Steve?" Bucky blurted out. He felt his face go red. "Thanks. For the present. And the party. And... everything else."

Steve smiled, then leaned in to kiss the top of Bucky's head. "Yeah. Anything, Buck."

 

\-----

 

Bucky's post-birthday universe was filled with exam preparation, babysitting Alice, and the obligatory end-of-year chaos. Despite being surprisingly put together, Bucky was still not completely ready for the conversations about after graduation. Wanda and Pietro were taking a gap year to go back to Sokovia and see their family. T'Challa and Shuri were going to Africa over the holidays to see their family - and it turned out, they actually were royalty. Bucky shouldn't have been surprised. 

Sam had gotten into the psychology course he wanted at the college Bucky had decided to go to, and he and Bucky had already rented the dorm they were going to be sharing. Natasha and Clint had both been accepted into a program called SHIELD's Next Generation, which was apparently a training course for baby spies for one of the top intelligence organisations in the country. 

Far too quickly, it rolled into May. School and exams almost immediately became irrelevant, because with May came the End of Year Formal.

The teachers collectively recognised the futility of attempting a full day of classes, so the seniors were dismissed at lunch. Natasha disappeared to the hairdresser with Clint, Wanda and Pietro, and Bucky found himself at T'Challa's house with Sam, Okoye, Shuri and Nakia to get ready. He didn't know exactly how it happened, but Shuri had his costume tucked under her arm and a bright smile on her face.

"Come on now, coloniser! We don't have all day!" she scolded him, and Sam watched with amusement as she poked and prodded at Bucky in the stupid costume, then decided that his hair was a disaster and sat him down at her vanity table. 

"Shuri, I don't think this is really necessary," Bucky tried to complain, but she pinched his ear.

"Do you see anybody else around here with nice hair?" she asked, gesturing towards Nakia and Okoye. "These idiots cut all their hair off, and my brother is useless. I am going to braid your hair, and you are going to sit there and take it like a man."

Okoye snorted milk through her nose. T'Challa glared at his sister, but Shuri ignored him. 

By the time she was done, Bucky barely recognised himself. His costume consisted of a blue jacket that hugged his frame in a way that was tight, but not uncomfortably so, black pants, and shin-high combat boots. There was a belt around his waist with pouches on it, and a fake rifle was slung across his shoulder. His left sleeve was pinned up almost professionally. Shuri had braided the left side of his head only, and the loose hair fell down in waves across his face and brushed against his shoulders.

"I'd tap that," Nakia commented, and Okoye punched her. Shuri crossed her arms and grinned.

"I am a genius. One of these days, when I'm rich and famous, you'll be able to say I did your hair."

"I'm honoured," Bucky deadpanned.

By the time it was six thirty, the six of them stood outside the gymnasium, decked out in their costumes and waiting for Natasha, Clint, Wanda and Pietro. T'Challa had a suit to match Sam's, Okoye was dressed as that woman from the feminist _We can do it!_ poster (complete with spotted bandanna), Nakia was Louise Franklin, and Shuri had thrown the theme out the window and looked like a warrior goddess from several millennia before, complete with face paint, braids, and what looked like the jawbone of a carnivore framing her face. 

"Where are the others?" Sam asked, checking his watch. 

"You know Natasha likes to be fashionably late," Bucky replied.

"Yeah, but it's already half an hour late."

"You won't have to wait any longer," T'Challa murmured to Sam, nodding his head to his right. Natasha was in a skin-tight catsuit, and had her arm around Clint, who was wearing a black stealth suit and purple tinted glasses, with a bow and quiver slung across his back. Wanda was making some obscene hand gesture to Pietro, which looked strange in her perfectly styled Soviet army uniform. Pietro was laughing, and had a pencil moustache and - _oh my god he was Adolf Hitler._

"I hope you don't offend anyone with that costume," Sam said, raising his eyebrows.

"The whole point of the costume is to offend," Pietro retorted. "Do you have any idea how many Nazis are at our school? This costume is ridiculous - it's sure to ruffle their feathers."

"I tried to talk him out of it," Wanda said, but she was grinning. "Nice look, Barnes."

"You too, Maximoff." Bucky offered his arm. "Shall we?"

Wanda grinned again, and they all went into the gym together. 

Music pounded through the building as they walked through the familiar corridors, past the science labs and the abandoned toilets that stoners used to wrap bongs. There was even more glitter than before - it was as if someone had run through the halls with a huge box of the stuff and thrown it everywhere for the sole purpose of annoying Bucky. 

The hallway to the gym was hidden beneath a thick red carpet. Movie posters on art-room easels lined the sides behind the red ropes that were used to keep the little ones in the right spot when they had vaccinations. At the end of the red carpet, the gym doors were flanked by two life-sized golden Oscars, where a few committee members stood with cameras. It was ridiculous and tacky, but Bucky was secretly loving every second of it. 

Three Audrey Hepburn's and about twenty Marilyn Monroe's passed them, and Bucky internally winced. There were going to be so many flappy white dresses and badly dyed blonde hair that he might die. 

"Was there only one actress in Old Hollywood?" Natasha muttered, glaring at a Marilyn who dared to look at her. 

Clint chuckled. "I think it has something to do with the dress. I bet you twenty bucks there's going to be a lot of 'accidental' flashing tonight."

"I'm not taking that bet," Okoye muttered. 

"Best fancy dress theme ever," Nakia snickered, and Shuri groaned.

"You're ridiculously queer this evening."

Bucky didn't even have a chance to process that, because a shrieking blur grabbed his shoulders and slammed him into a wall. Bucky sighed internally as his mind flashed back to the past five years of his life. 

"Jimmy! Man, I knew it was you!"

Brock Rumlow was drunk. Absolutely, ridiculously hammered. And his breath stank. And he would not move his face away from Buckys. Bucky was almost worried that he'd try to kiss him.

"Maybe that's because I'm the only person you know with one arm and good hair."

Rumlow giggled hysterically. "Dude, you're so smart. Like, _soooo_ smart. I can totally see why Sharon's jealous of you - she's just a slag."

Bucky winced at the choice of words. "I wouldn't say that."

Rumlow ignored him to turn his eyes onto Nakia. "Hey gorgeous," he purred. Then he looked at Natasha. "Hey to you too, beautiful."

"I'm gonna dislocate your pelvis again," Natasha said, crossing her arms. "Believe me, I've done much more than that in a much tighter outfit."

Nakia laughed as Rumlow tripped over his own feet to get away from them. Then he seemed to completely forget he was in the middle of being threatened by a terrifying redhead, and ran down the red carpet to body slam a Harry Houdini.

"It's so satisfying to know he's gonna spend the night puking on his shoes before passing out in a topiary," Wanda sighed.

They get their pictures taken by a beaming Thor and a glowering Loki. Rumlow was tripped up by a gangster. So far, it was chaos, and Bucky doubted that it would get any better. The inside of the gym was surprisingly nice - there was an old-fashioned snack bar in the corner, posters of war propaganda and old movies lined the walls, and gold stars hung from the ceiling beams. The gym screen was broadcasting a movie - it took Bucky about four seconds to realise that it was the original _Wizard of Oz._

The centre of the gym was covered by cardboard gold stars, stuck down in no particular pattern. Bucky walked over to the closest one to see Peter Parker's name written in fancy cursive.

"Everyone has one. We triple-checked," Gamora said. Bucky hadn't even noticed she was there. 

"You did a really good job with the decorating," Bucky said, and she grinned.

"It was pretty much all Steve. That guy's got talent." She looked over towards the dance floor, and cursed. "Shit. I need to go save my boyfriend. He's about to be beaten up for the fifth time tonight."

Sure enough, Peter Quill was in the middle of an argument with Drax Destroyer (awesome name, pretty stupid guy) and it was about half a second from turning into a full-blown fist fight. Which would have been hilarious, considering that Drax was absolutely massive and Peter Quill barely came up to his armpit. Gamora stormed off, yelling "Peter! No!" as she went.

"I still don't know why she's into him," Nakia said. 

"It's called being morosexual. You're attracted to dumbasses and dumbasses only," Natasha replied. "Why else do you think I'm dating this idiot?"

"Hey," Clint whined. Natasha grinned, and dragged him onto the dance floor. Sam and T'Challa were in their own world, and with a scoff and an eye roll in their direction, Okoye walked towards the snack bar, Shuri and Nakia following while in an argument about whether Bette Davis or Ingrid Bergman was prettier. 

"You wanna dance?" Wanda asked, and Bucky snorted. 

"Maybe later. When aliens take over my brain and I lose my sense of free will."

"Wanda, come on!" Pietro said excitedly. "Zola is definitely a Nazi - I wanna see how pissed off I can make him with my disrespectful Hitler impression."

"Make sure nobody gets punched," Bucky sighed, and Wanda laughed.

"I might be the one doing the punching, so I can't guarantee anything."

"You're a menace."

Wanda kissed his cheek, then skipped off arm-in-arm with Pietro like the Tin Man and Dorothy on the big screen.

"Well? Does it gain your stamp of approval?" 

Bucky turned around. In the dim light, he wasn't entirely sure if he knew what he was seeing. Steve Rogers was standing in front of him, his arms crossed and a shit-eating grin on his face, wearing a skin-tight, bright blue, star-spangled jumpsuit. There was what looked like a large dinner plate slung across his back. It took Bucky a few seconds to realise who he was, and then he burst out laughing. 

"Dude. You came as Captain fucking America?" Bucky wheezed. Steve's grin widened.

"I was trying to find the most ridiculous costume I could. I wanted to be a piece of war propaganda - I was gonna go for just a caricature of a Nazi - but then I saw this on Amazon and I couldn't resist."

"You look like freedom personified," Bucky deadpanned. "The only other thing you need is a huge American flag and a bald eagle on your shoulder."

Steve laughed. "And dude, you look amazing. Who did your hair?"

Bucky grimaced. "Shuri. I think she's secretly an evil genius, or a witch, or something like that. I think I just sold my soul to her."

"I should probably thank her," Steve said, his eyes gleaming. "Even if you did sell your soul, you look good enough to stroll into Hell and take it right back." Bucky felt his face flush, and silently thanked the dim lights.

"I feel like I underestimated your superpowers. The place looks awesome," Bucky said, changing the subject. "I'm not wishing even a little bit for the place to be invaded by soul-sucking superhumans."

"Despite the glitter?" Steve teased. Bucky rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Stevie. Despite the glitter."

Valkyrie ran up to them, shot finger guns at Bucky, then whispered in Steve's ear. He grimaced. "Ugh. I've gotta go, Buck. Apparently, some members of the music committee missed the nothing-past-the-2000's memo. I've already heard far too much Taylor Swift."

"Better go before there actually is a dance-scene homicide."

Steve grinned at him. "I'll talk to you later, Buck."

He ran off towards the DJ stand. If Bucky watched him go for a little longer than necessary, that was nobody's business. 

The Formal was an endless, chaotic night, and Bucky found himself loving every second of it. Steve was rushed off several times with organisational dramas, but periodically found time to take ridiculous photos with the lot of them. Sam and T'Challa forgot they were in the middle of a photo shoot and started making out rather aggressively. More than once, Natasha jumped on Bucky's shoulders. Clint never seemed to run out of ridiculous poses, and at some point, Bucky found himself in Steve's arms like some kind of damsel in distress. Loki was delighted by Pietro's controversial costume, and made him do a Nazi salute while Steve pretended to punch him in the face. It was Bucky's favourite photo of all time. Bucky wasn't entirely sure why he needed to be frozen in so many people's memories, but when the big screen changed to show pictures taken outside and their group came up, he was a little bit too happy about it. He guessed he understood the purpose of keeping small fragments of time preserved in a photograph. 

Bucky floated around with Shuri and Okoye as speeches were made and awards were handed out. The vice principal dragged the religious maths teacher onto the dance floor, and Bucky decided that looking at a homophobe's varicose veins was on his top 5 list of things not to do ever again.

Sam and T'Challa had snuck off to be sappy and romantic together, and Nakia was roped into handing out Hollywood-themed party bags. Bucky made a hasty excuse and bolted before he could be sucked in, too. 

Clint and Natasha were back on the dance floor. Clint seemed to have lost half the arrows in his quiver, but he winked at Bucky as he swung Natasha into a very brave backwards dip. Bucky knew that if he messed it up, Natasha would purposely step on his feet, and the high heeled boots she was wearing looked painful. 

Rumlow was attempting some kind of Latin dance with a random girl. He had her in a headlock, and she looked thoroughly unimpressed. Bucky laughed as she kneed him in the testicles and flounced off. Despite everything, Rumlow was still a total dick. But somehow, it wasn't Bucky's problem anymore. 

Bucky found an empty table in the corner and sat down, stretching his legs out in front of him as he watched the scene in front of him. The spinning lights were epilepsy-inducing, and the stars on the floor were slowly getting dirtier and dirtier as over a hundred pairs of feet stepped on them. The playlist had changed to something a little slower and romantic, and Bucky caught sight of several couples with their arms around each other. He felt an uncomfortable tug in his gut at the sight, and looked away.

"Have you been hiding in the corner this whole time? I've been looking for you, y'know."

Bucky looked up. "And why have you been looking for me?"

"Jamie, I know your status on dancing, and how you'd rather die than have fun, yadda yadda. But it's the end of the year, and I'm not leaving until you dance with me at least once."

Steve had his arms crossed over his ridiculous costume, eyes twinkling mischievously. His hair was mussed and full of glitter, and there was another smudge of glitter on his cheek. He gave Bucky that look, the pleading Golden Retriever eyes that Bucky swore was some kind of Jedi mind-trick. Steve held out his hand.

Bucky did not dance. Ever. He felt like that had been made very clear.

But... Steve had always been an exception. 

Bucky reached up and took Steve's hand. His fingers curled around Buckys. Bucky felt himself be pulled up, and pressed against Steve's chest. The material of the Captain America suit was rough under Bucky's fingertips. 

"You know you gotta move when you dance, right?" Steve said amusedly. The music was so loud. Bucky wasn't sure he could talk his legs into functioning. 

"Stevie..." The music was so loud. Bucky's voice got lost.

Steve leaned in, grinning. "Jamie, you know what I'll have to do if you don't start moving with me, don't you?"

"What?"

"You. Here. In a corner, refusing to move. I can and I will pull you into a very embarrassing and ridiculously uncoordinated tango, and I'll have you know I have no idea how to tango."

"Steve..."

Bucky's hand was on Steve's chest. Steve's hands were on Bucky's hips. There was basically no space between them. Steve's fingers were burning holes through Bucky's clothes and skin. 

"I'll give you the count of five."

"Steve, I'm sort of... a little bit..."

Steve's eyes were full of mirth. "Are you really gonna let me get down to one?"

"A little bit, completely in love with you."

The stupid romance movies that Becca used to watch after a breakup were completely wrong. The world didn't stop. Nobody spared them a second glance. The music kept booming. People hadn't frozen in place. There was absolutely nothing to mark that everything had changed.

Except Bucky glanced at Steve's face. Steve's face was white.

"What did you say?" he whispered.

Bucky curled his hand into a fist on that stupid star in the middle of Steve's chest and stepped away. Steve's hands fell from his hips to hang limply. Bucky couldn't look at him - he couldn't bring himself to process whatever he saw on Steve's face. The romantic candlelight behind them was burning Bucky's eyes. 

"I said I'm in love with you. And I've tried not to be, I really have, but it's completely useless. And I know that you don't feel the same way about me, god knows I know, but I had to tell you because... Jesus, you're all I think about. And I know that sounds kinda weird and creepy, but it's the truth, and I wish to god it wasn't, and I miss you whenever I'm not with you, but, Steve... you're one of the best friends I've ever had. You're smart and amazing and weird and talented and probably the most beautiful person I've ever met." Bucky knew he was babbling now, but all of the emotions that he'd been holding in for months were just spilling out of him and he couldn't do anything to stop them. "Before I met you, I just kinda wanted to fast-forward through my life and run away and never look back at this stupid school and the stupid people in it, but you made me actually wanna get out of bed every morning. And I know that's pathetic, and I know that you probably don't wanna hear my ridiculous love confession. And... And no matter where you go, or however you feel about me... I feel like you made my whole life move. And I...I love you forever for that."

Bucky broke off and took a deep breath. He still didn't look at Steve's face. "That's all I wanted to say. I'm... I'm gonna go now."

He turned around and walked away.

Steve didn't follow him.

Steve didn't call out his name and chase after Bucky in the rain. It wasn't even raining. The stupid late spring weather and lack of clouds didn't even have the decency to provide Bucky with a good movie cliché.

Bucky walked home and let himself in quietly. His ma wasn't home. Alice was at her first sleepover. Aunt Edith was at work. Bucky went to his room and changed into sweatpants and an old T-shirt. He crawled into bed, and held onto the charms on the chain around his neck. Bucky decided that he was fairly safe there until aliens took over, or the earth was sucked into a wormhole, or global warming finally killed everyone. He pulled the blankets over his head and curled into a ball.

Time stopped.

Bucky felt like he was dying. Objectively, he knew that he wasn't - he'd been on the brink of death before, and although it felt the same, it was definitely not - and that he was probably overreacting, but he couldn't care less. He'd just ruined one of the most important things in his life. The feeling was almost physical - it carved at his chest and burned up his insides, and a far-away voice in his head told him that he'd heart about the feeling before.

Bucky's heart was broken.

And hell if that didn't make him feel like the most clichéd damsel in distress in the whole damn country. 

Time stopped.

Bucky woke up to a pounding in his head. After a few seconds, he realised it wasn't in his head, but at his door. Bucky stuck a hand out of the blanket and grabbed at his silent phone. 

It was past one in the morning. There were, in total, fourteen missed calls. 

Bucky didn't want to speak to anyone who had called him. He didn't want to speak to anyone, ever again, unless they could wind back time. 

Bucky pulled the blankets over his head again. The pounding didn't go away. If anything, it got worse. After a few minutes, Bucky couldn't take it anymore, and dragged himself out of bed. It must have been Sam. Or Natasha. Bucky wasn't sure if he could stop himself from punching either of them in the face if it was them standing on his doorstep.

Of course it wasn't.

Steve had changed out of his costume. He was wearing his jeans, leather jacket and a shirt that had buttons halfway up. There was a motorbike helmet held in his hand. His tattoo was stark against the pale skin of his neck. He looked perfect.

Actually, he looked angry. Like, _really_ angry.

"Hi," Bucky said dumbly.

"That's all you have to say to me?" Steve asked incredulously. His voice was almost shaking. 

"You're upset."

"Of course I'm upset, you idiot!"

Bucky just nodded. He felt so tired. His body, if not for the hand he had supporting himself on the doorframe, would have fallen to the ground. His mouth didn't work. He felt so empty, and exhausted, and he wanted nothing more than to beg Steve to stay and get wrapped up in his arms again.

"I'm sorry," Bucky managed to croak.

"You're not even gonna ask why I'm pissed?"

"Because some idiot thought you might want to know his pathetic feelings for you?"

Steve stormed past him into the apartment, throwing his motorbike helmet to the side. His hands ran through his hair. His eyes were wild. "No! It's because you said those things to me, and then you _disappeared!_ You told me that you were in love with me, and then left me standing in the middle of a dirty, high school gym wearing a spangled, patriotic jumpsuit surrounded by spiked punch and about five hundred Marilyn Monroe's?!"

"I feel like you're exaggerating the amount of Marilyn's."

Steve crossed his arms over his chest and glared. Bucky sighed, and closed the front door. It shut with a soft click. "I didn't know what else to do."

"Yeah, well, that's just the story of your life, isn't it?"

Like it usually did, Bucky's temper flared up at the worst possible time. He spun around to face Steve. "No, you know what? I'm surprised I managed to not say anything as long as I did. Do you have any idea how long I've felt like this? And how many damned things I've been through this year to let my guard down, it was a fucking _miracle_ I didn't open my fat gob until now! You were there for me when my dad died, when Becca died, when my ma was so deep in alcohol she could barely think! You looked at my drawings and said that I was amazing, you managed to get me onto a _beach,_ for fuck's sake! And yeah, I get it. I fucking deserve this, because I have done absolutely nothing for you compared to what you've done for me. So sure, don't let me stop you from yelling your heart out at my stupidity, and my dumb emotions!"

Bucky knew there were tears running down his face, and he knew that he was ripping out his own heart and mashing it all over the damned apartment for being an idiot, and a loser, and an amputee, and not nearly smart enough to realise that Steve would never, ever want him. 

"Well, how about you shut up and let me yell my heart out at your stupidity?" Steve snapped. Bucky took a deep breath, and turned away.

"You know what? I'm not gonna listen to this." He turned around to glare at Steve. "I know everything you're about to say, and I've already put myself through it about a billion times over. So I get it." Bucky let out a humourless laugh and ran a hand through his hair, turning away again. It was still in its braids. 

"No, you know what? You're gonna listen to this, because if anyone is gonna help you pull your head out of your ridiculously attractive ass, it's gonna be me!" Steve grabbed Bucky's shoulder and roughly turned him back around. Bucky raised his chin and glared at Steve defiantly, and shoved the hand off his shoulder.

"Then do enlighten me, Rogers. Tell me exactly what's so important that it has you running over to my apartment at fucking ass o'clock."

Steve took in a harsh breath, and ran a hand through his hair again. "Would you just shut up for ten seconds for me to tell you that I love you back?! Because it seems that I have to literally spell it out for you to understand - it's either that or me showing up at three in the morning with my guitar and a huge bouquet of roses, and I gotta say I don't really want your neighbours to hear my singing. I made you invite me to your place for a study group, even though - you know what? I'm pretty fucking good at studying on my own! When I went away, you were the only person I wanted to talk to! You were the first person I came to see after I came back! I _sang_ in front of you, Barnes - do you have any idea how much that took? I have never let anyone see that part of me before I met you, and - oh hell - I feel like I've been running across the entire world to find you!"

Steve laughed shakily and ran a hand down his face. "You... You're funny and smart and you have a giant heart that you don't even pretend to hide. And you love your friends and your family, and you let me hold you and you kissed my cheek and made me sing even though I was so scared I thought I was gonna die. And I knew that you understood pain and grief because you've been through them a thousand times over, and you're the strongest person I've ever met because you keep going, even when you lose a part of yourself."

Bucky took a step towards Steve. Steve didn't step away. He poked Bucky in the chest, and his voice wobbled. "And you took your shirt off when we were at the beach, and you weren't ashamed of your body and you didn't care what people thought about you. And your face lights up when you talk about drawing or painting or any of the things that you love."

Bucky felt more tears trace down his face, but they were brushed away almost immediately because Steve's left hand was on his face and his right hand had curled around Bucky's hip and was holding him close.

"And... And you protect your friends." Steve's voice was a lot more wobbly now. "And you weren't afraid to speak up and say that you thought my dad was a dickhead. And you let Brock Rumlow slam you into lockers for years because if he wasn't beating you up, he'd do something to Sam or Clint or Nat. And there's a little dimple on your chin when you smile that's so cute I almost died when I first saw it. And you don't give a damn what other people think about you, and you let Shuri do your hair and you let Natasha take you shopping and you listen to Clint's terrible slam poetry. And when you saw me and Sharon together, I spent two days lying on my bedroom floor listening to Air Supply and cursing myself, because I'd just shown you that I was the exact same as the rest of those guys that pushed you around your whole life because they're too scared that you're gonna be a better man than them, but they don't know that you're already better than they would ever be, and-"

Bucky was aware that Steve had stopped talking.

He couldn't really concentrate on anything else.

Because Steve was kissing him. And he was kissing Steve back.

Bucky never really understood kissing - not really. It was just pressing your mouths together and maybe jamming your tongue in there as well. But Bucky had never really been kissed before. And he was not expecting it to be so incredible. It was just lips on lips, but Bucky could feel it in his stomach and lungs and fingers and feet and those things inside his DNA that he could never remember the name of. Bucky couldn't feel the ground underneath him. He couldn't feel anything other than Steve - his lips, his jaw under Bucky's fingers, his hands that had lifted up Bucky's shirt and the fingers that were pressing against his bare skin, the callouses sending shiver after shiver through Bucky's body. There was pretty much no space between the two of them - Bucky was pressed as close to Steve as he possibly could, and he barely noticed when his back hit the wall and Steve just pressed even closer and Bucky could feel Steve's heartbeat thudding against his chest and it was too much and not enough and-

Steve leaned back slightly. His lips brushed against Bucky's again - softer, more of a breath than anything. Bucky found himself chasing Steve's lips, still gasping for breath. His head was swimming. He was pretty sure that he'd ascended to heaven. Steve's arms were still tightly wrapped around him. And unless zombie hordes invaded the apartment complex, Bucky wasn't going to let go of Steve either. 

"Stevie," Bucky breathed out. Steve's eyes were so beautiful, with their blues and greens and golds. Bucky was almost sure he saw a bit of purple in there. 

"Have I dislodged your head from your ass yet?" Steve murmured. His thumb brushed against Bucky's still-wet cheek.

"Are you still mad at me?" Bucky countered.

Steve seemed to consider the question for several seconds. "Yes," he finally said decisively. 

"Why?"

Steve grinned at him. "Well, we could've been doing this a long time ago, if you were quicker on your feet."

"It's a two-way street, you know," Bucky murmured. His hand drifted down to stroke Steve's pulse point, flicking the shirt out of the way and tracing Steve's tattoo. Steve shivered and leaned fully onto Bucky, his lips brushing against Bucky's forehead, then his nose, and just under his jaw. Bucky groaned softly, his head hitting the wall behind him as Steve pressed his lips onto the sensitive point just behind Bucky's ear. Bucky's head was filled with fog and his skin was practically on fire, but his hand seemed to know exactly what it was doing as he unbuttoned Steve's shirt down to the last one, halfway down his chest. Steve's hand raked through his hair, gentle but still enough to make Bucky almost fall to his knees. Steve's chest was hard underneath Bucky's fingers, and Bucky splayed his fingers flat when Steve kissed him again.

"I didn't know you were interested," Steve mumbled against Bucky's lips. "I do have dignity, y'know. And I was so sure you'd freak out if you knew how I felt. And... I guess I just wasn't brave enough." Steve's hands rubbed over the jut of Bucky's hips again, and Bucky shivered. 

"I thought I was being pretty obvious," Bucky said breathlessly. "You know, with the lovestruck staring and letting you call me Jamie and the fact that I basically never let anyone touch me, but I loved it when you did."

"Yeah, well, I'm not exactly the most perceptive person," Steve admitted, and Bucky let out a breathy laugh. "I just can't believe you didn't know..."

Bucky pulled away slightly, just so he could look into Steve's eyes. His fingers traced the perfect bow of Steve's lips. Steve's face was flushed, and his lips were swollen, and Bucky wanted to kiss him again and again.

"What?" 

Steve smiled, almost embarrassedly. "I can't believe you couldn't see that I was crazy in love with you."

Yeah. Bucky had definitely ascended to heaven. He leaned forward to rest his head in the crook of Steve's neck, feeling a dumb grin spread across his face. "Say that again," he said.

Steve laughed softly, his arms tightening around Bucky's waist. "I'm crazy in love with you."

Bucky looked up, not even bothering to hide his smile. "Well, I think I'm crazy in love with you, too."

Steve beamed, and Bucky's heart soared. He would do absolutely anything to have Steve look at him like that for the rest of his life. Steve rested his forehead against Buckys. Their noses touched. Bucky couldn't resist leaning in and kissing him again.

Bucky thought about the best thing about kissing Steve. There wasn't even one - he'd have to make a whole list. 

And Bucky thought about the sketchbooks in his room, under his bed, in his chest of drawers. He thought about the paints that he would have to mix to get Steve's eyes just right. He thought about the smell of acrylics and oils and fresh canvas, and realised that he could never get Steve's perfection on there. But he was going to try again and again.

Because Bucky had no idea how he ever tried to find peace without Steve.


End file.
